Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military

Coup dtat
Elifcan Karacan

Remembering the 1980

Turkish Military Coup
dtat
Memory, Violence, and Trauma
Elifcan Karacan
Berlin, Germany

Dissertation at University of Siegen, Germany, 2014

Original title: Remembering the Turkish Military Coup dtat of 12 September 1980: A
comparison between the memories of revolutionaries in exile and of those who stayed.

ISBN 978-3-658-11319-3 ISBN 978-3-658-11320-9 (eBook)

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015949309

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Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
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I dedicate this thesis to my father
Mustafa Karacan

5
Acknowledgements

This book has only been possible with the support, help and inspiration of many
people, to whom I owe a great deal of gratitude. First, Prof. Karin Schittenhelm
has been very supportive since the beginning of my research. I am very grateful
to her for valuable scientific advice and I am honoured to have written this thesis
under her supervision. I also thank my co-adviser, Prof. Sigrid Baringhorst, and
the members of my PhD committee, Prof. Christian Lahusen and Prof. Robert
Kaiser for precious comments and discussions.

I would like to express my profound respect and gratitude to Prof. Gabriele

Rosenthal of The Center of Methods in Social Sciences, Georg-August
University, Gttingen for providing insightful discussions and suggestions on
understanding and analyzing my interview material.

Many thanks also go to Sefariye Eki, Ilay Karagz, Nejat Kangal, Hseyin
Avgan, Hsn ndl, Mustafa Yldrmtrk, Hulusi Zeybel, lhami Yazgan,
Evrim Yaban, Yavuz Gtrk, Murat Grgz, Yavuz Yldrmtrk and the other
members of the organizations DIDF, Revolutionary 78s, IHD and TUDAY.

I would like to express my most sincere thanks for the financial support provided
by Siegen University and the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation. I am grateful to the
members of both of these grant programmes, and especially to my
Vertrauntdozent Prof. Clemens Knobloch, Dr. Marcus Hawel, and Dr. Sandra
Thieme from the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation.

David Barnes has done the proofreading of this book. In addition to the precious
work he has done, I thank him for his motivating comments, for his interest in
my research and friendship.

I have been especially fortunate to have the support of my family. I thank to my

mother Kadriye Karacan, my sister znur Karacan, my brother Umut Bar
Karacan, Filiz Stolu, my niece Tuana Toraman, my nephew Baran Toraman.
7
From the beginning, my father, Mustafa Karacan, helped me to find the first
contacts to interview and informed me about books that are relevant to my
research. This book is dedicated to him. All my family and friends showed great
interest in the process and findings of the project and it would not be wrong to
say that I even made my first presentations to my family and friends, before any
other conferences! Special thanks go to Can Aybek. I benefitted very much from
his knowledge and always enjoyed and learned from our fruitful provocative
discussions.

Finally, I thank my interview partners. I learned much from their continuing

struggle for a more just and equal world. This book belongs to them and many
others who suffered in this struggle.

8
Table of Contents

Abbreviations ...................................................................................................13
1. Introduction .................................................................................................17
1.1 Background to the problem ................................................................. 18
1.2 Research design and the research questions ...................................... 21
Research Questions ................................................................................. 23
1.3 Structure of the study ........................................................................... 24
2. Theories of memory ..................................................................................27
2. 1 Memory in oral traditions ................................................................... 27
2. 2 Institutionalization of the past ............................................................ 29
2. 3 Socially constructed memory ............................................................. 32
2.3. 1 Memory from individual to collective .................................... 33
2.3. 2 The presentist aspect of collective memory .............................. 36
2.3. 3 Social frameworks of collective memory as ideology ............. 38
2.4 Cultural memory and communicative memory ................................ 41
2. 5 Memories in practice ........................................................................... 43
2. 6 Modernity and forgetting .................................................................... 45
2. 7 Trauma theories of memory ............................................................... 48
2. 8 Postmemory: transmission of memory from generation to
generation................................................................................................ 50
3. Methodology.................................................................................................55
3. 1 Participant observation ........................................................................ 55
3. 1. 1 Entering the field ......................................................................... 56
3. 1. 2 Field research in practice .......................................................... 57
3. 1. 3 Secondary sources....................................................................... 58
3. 1. 4 Expert interviews ......................................................................... 59
3. 1. 5 Interpretation of the data gathered........................................... 60
9
 3. 2 Doing biographical research............................................................... 61
3. 2. 1 Sampling ....................................................................................... 62
3.2. 2 Building trust ................................................................................ 63
3. 2. 3 Conducting biographical narrative interviews ....................... 64
3. 2. 4 Analysis of the biographical narrative interviews: the
biographical case reconstruction method ........................................... 69
4. Historical background .............................................................................75
4. 1 Turkey's first experiences with coups d'tat: 27 May 1960 and 12
March 1971 ............................................................................................. 75
4. 2 Twilight times: 1970s towards the coup........................................ 77
4. 2. 1 Political and economic instabilities: ........................................ 77
4. 2. 2 Trade unions and the labour movement................................... 78
4. 2. 3 Brutal violence and Alevi massacres........................................ 80
4. 3 The military take another turn: September the 12th Coup .............. 81
4. 3. 1 Reconstructing education: institute of higher education ....... 82
4. 3. 2 The silence of fear: oppression of trade unions and media... 82
4. 3. 3 Neo-liberal transformation of the economy ............................ 84
4. 4 The revolutionary movement before September 12 ........................ 86
4. 4. 1 Origins of the revolutionary movement ................................... 86
4. 4. 2 THKP/C: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Parti-Cephesi (People's
Liberation Party-Front of Turkey)........................................................ 90
4. 4. 3 Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Ordusu (People's Liberation Army of
Turkey):THKO ......................................................................................... 92
4. 4. 4 TKP/ML: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist
(Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist) .................................. 94
5. Memory in practice ...................................................................................97
5. 1 The production of the memory places .. ............................................ 97
5. 1. 1 The spatial framework of memory ............................................ 98
5. 1. 2 Ulucanlar Prison Museum ....................................................... 100
10
 5. 1. 3 12 September Shame Museum ................................................. 102
5. 1. 4 Production of memory places .................................................. 103
5. 1. 5 Destruction of authenticity and the beautification of brutal
violence ................................................................................................... 104
5. 1. 6 Reconstruction of an oppressed past and the problem of
selectivity ................................................................................................ 110
5. 1. 7 Discourses of victimization and efforts to prove an injustice
................................................................................................................. 113
5. 2 Commemorative ceremonies, symbols and myths ........................ 114
5. 2. 1 Heroization and victimization ................................................. 117
5. 2. 2 Sacralization; myths and symbols of the 12 September ....... 124
5. 2. 3 Exclusion and inclusion ........................................................... 126
6. Types and concepts of remembering 12 September ...................135
6. 1 Remembering 12 September ............................................................ 135
6. 1. 1 Historical continuity: the spirit of the 68 generation ......... 136
6. 1. 2 Resistance ................................................................................... 139
6. 1. 3 Perpetrators ............................................................................... 141
6. 1. 4 Narrating 12 September ........................................................... 151
6. 2 Concepts in remembering the 12 September ................................. 155
6. 2. 1 The frozen memory of the exile ............................................... 155
6. 2. 2 Memory of the isolated self ...................................................... 159
6. 2. 3 Wounded memory ...................................................................... 164
6. 2. 4 Reflective memory ..................................................................... 174
7. Conclusion: longing for the future in search of lost times .......187
References ........................................................................................................197

11
Abbreviations

ANAP: Anavatan Partisi (Motherland Party)

AP: Adalet Partisi (Justice Party)
ATF: Almanya Trkiyeli iler Federasyonu (Federation of Workers
from Turkey-Germany)
ATK: Avrupa Trkiyeli iler Konfederasyonu (Confederation of
Workers from Turkey - Europe)
CHP: Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (Republican People's Party - RPP)
Dev-Gen: Devrimci Genlik (Revolutionary Youth)
DEV-SOL: Devrimci Sol (Revolutionary Left)
DEV-YOL: Devrimci Yol (Revolutionary Path)
DGDF: Devrimci Genlik Dernekleri Federasyonu (Federation of
Revolutionary Youth Organizations)
DDF: Demokratik i Dernekleri Federasyonu (Democratic Workers
Organizations)
DSK: Devrimci i Sendikalar Konfederasyonu (Confederation of
Revolutionary Trade Unions)
DP: Demokrat Parti (Democrat Party)
FKF: Fikir Kulpleri Federasyonu (Federation of Thought Clups)
IMF: International Money Fund
ISAs: Ideological State Apparatuses
KSD: Kurtulu Sosyalist Dergi (Journal of Socialist Lieration)
MDD: Milli Demokratik Devrim (National Democratic Revolution)
MDP: Milliyeti Demokrasi Partisi (Party of Nationalist Democracy)
MGK: Milli Gvenlik Konseyi (National Security Council NSC)
MHP: Milliyeti Hareket Partisi (Nationalist Action Party NAP)
MSK: Milliyeti i Sendikalar Konfederasyonu (Confederation of
Nationalist Workers' Unions)
MLSPB: Marksist Leninist Silahl Propaganda Birlii (Marxist Leninist
Armed Propaganda Unity)
MSP: Milli Selamet Partisi (National Salvation Party).
MTTB: Milli Trk Talebe Birlii Union of Trkish Nationalist Students
NATO: North Atlantic Treaty Organization
PDA: Proleter Devrimci Aydnlk
RSAs: Repressive State Apparatuses
SGB: Sosyalist Genlik Birlii (The Unity of Socialist Youth)
TDG: Trkiye Demokratik i Genlik Dernei (Democratic
Workers' and Youth Organization of Turkey)

13
TDKP-: TDKP na rgt (Construction Organization)
TDKP: Trkiye Devrimci Komnist Partisi (Revolutionary Communist
Party Turkey)
THKO: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Ordusu (People's Liberation Army of
Turkey)
THKO-GMK: THKO-Geici Merkez Komitesi (Temporary Head Committee)
THKO-MB: THKO-Mcadele Birlii (Unity of Struggle)
THKO-TDY: THKO-Trkiye Devriminin Yolu (Revolutionary Path of
Turkey)
THKP-C: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Parti-Cephesi (People's Liberation
Party-Front of Turkey)
THKP-C Y: THKP-C nc Yolcular (Third Road)
TKP: Trkiye htilalci i Kyl Partisi (Revolutionary Workers'
and Peasants' Party of Turkey)
TKP: Trkiye i Kyl Partisi (Workers' and Peasants' Party
Turkey)
TP: Trkiye i Partisi (Workers' Party of Turkey)
TSK: Trkiye veren Sendikalar Konfederasyonu (Confederation of
Employers' Union Turkey)
TKP: Trkiye Komnist Partisi (Communist Party of Turkey)
TKP/ML: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist (Communist Party
of Turkey/Marxist Leninist)
TKP/ML-DHB: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist Devrimci Halkn
Birlii (Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist The
Unity of Revolutionary People)
TKP/ML-HB: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist Halkn Birlii
(Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist The Unity of
the People)
TKP/ML: Hareketi Halkn Birlii: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist
Leninist Hareketi Halkn Birlii (Communist Party of
Turkey/Marxist Leninist Movement The Unity of the People)
TKP/ML Partizan: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist
Partisan(Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist
Partisan)
TKP/ML-Y: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist Yeniden na
rgt (Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist -
Reconstruction Organization)
TOBB: Trkiye Odalar ve Borsalar Birlii (The Union of Chambers
and Commodity Exchanges of Turkey)
TB-DER: Trkiye retmenler Birleme ve Dayanma Dernei
(Organization of Teachers Union and Solidarity Turkey)

14
TRT: Trkiye Radyo ve Televizyon Kurumu (Institution of Turkish
Radio and Television)
TDAY: Trkiye Almanya nsan Haklar rgt (Human Rights
Organization Turkey/Germany)
TRK-: Trkiye i Sendikalar Konfederasyonu (The Confederation
of Trade Unions)
TSAD: Trkiye Sanayici ve adamlar Dernei (Organization of
Turkish Industrialists and Businessman)
US: United States
VP: Vatan Partisi (Homeland Party)
WB: World Bank (Dnya Bankas)
YDGDF: Yurtsever Devrimci Genlik Dernekleri Federasyonu
(Federation of Patriotic Revolutionary Youth Organizations)

15
1. Introduction

In 2006, I visited my father in hospital in our hometown in eastern Turkey. As I

had been informed previous to my visit, he was suffering from serious health
problems which we had not known of before. I wanted to stay with him at the
hospital in the evening as his attendant. This was definitely not the first time we
had had the chance to have a dad-daughter talk. Nevertheless, this was a
different situation because of the place where we were. There was nothing to
interrupt our conversation in the room; no television, no computer, no third
persons. Suddenly, my father started to talk about the good old days, when he
was young and fighting for revolution. Since my childhood, although I do not
remember exactly since when, I had known that my father had been engaged in
the revolutionary movement of the 70s, and hence the members of our family
had suffered much from political violence due to his activities. The earliest
picture that I can recall from my childhood about those days is a memory of two
soldiers asking me where my father was and myself immediately hiding behind
the curtains. I remember the fear I felt, but I am not sure if this is really a
memory of mine or whether someone else told me the story. Subsequently, I
learned from the family about our enemies, and gained some idea of why we
hated them, but the story of my fathers involvement in the revolutionary
movement, his imprisonment, and my mothers experiences while her husband
was incarcerated always remained unspoken. We my sister, my brother and I
knew it would open wounds and make them bleed again and never dared to ask
either my father or any other relative about our familys past. There was an
unspoken agreement to keep silence about the past in the family. Or was it our
parents who were unwilling to remember or to tell us?
In our talk in the hospital room, which took place 25 years after the military
coup, my father broke our familys agreement about silence. The more he told
me of his story, about his comrades and their activities and thoughts, the more
curious I became about the whole story. He told me about friends of his who
were executed, who were shot, who had to leave the country, and later he told me
where and how he was tortured. This previously unspoken story about the past
was incredibly alive, with images, sounds, smells, pains and joys. As he told it,
my father described each event, each person, and each place in detail. Do you
know X theatre on Y street? Before, its name was Z. There we had a meeting
about topic A in the afternoon at about 13 pm. There was a man standing at the
back of the room with a grey coat. I started to run down to X street and turned
into a green two-floored house, and rang the bell of the wooden door next to it...
At night they took me out of X place, cops on both sides. We were walking
17

E. Karacan, Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military Coup dtat,

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9_1, Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
along the street where the bus stops are today... I knew all the streets, places,
and some of the people he was talking about. Besides the very complex set of
emotions I had that evening, I was trying to understand how it had been possible
for my father to continue living in this small town, passing through the same
streets, the places where he and his friends had been imprisoned, tortured or
killed. Did he ever happen to meet the perpetrators afterwards the soldiers,
police officers or doctors who refused to report the marks of torture on his body?
What happened to the revolutionaries my father was not the only one: himself,
his friends, revolutionaries in other towns, in big cities, exiles in other countries?
But the most important question was how could society deal with the past of 12
September 1980, how did it recover from such a trauma? Had the pains healed?
What is the social attitude towards the memory of 12 September? Is it denial? Is
there another agreement on silence that we as members of society
unconsciously signed? Have we forgotten? Has anything remained? Can we
confront the past of the military coup or do we still have the fear of re-opening
our wounds and making them bleed?
My interest in the memory of 12 September, which started with personal
concerns, turned into an academic interest in social and political structures of
remembering. As Jeffrey Olick writes, I am well aware of the fact that family
history and personal preoccupations do not suffice for a worthy dissertation
topic (2008: 23). Family history and personal preoccupations can arouse an
interest in understanding a social fact, but one must move beyond personal
interests (which does not necessarily mean excluding the personal from the
scientific) in order to exhaustively explore that social fact.
This study, therefore, is designed to understand memory as social
reconstruction: to understand social frameworks of remembering the past and
biographical narratives as products of society. Based on these thoughts, the key
concepts of this study memory, collectivity, biography are generated. In the
following sections I discuss these key concepts in detail. The purpose of this
chapter is to provide some necessary background, set out the research questions
and introduce the research design, and give an overview of this thesis.

1.1 Background to the problem

The revolutionary movement1 arose during the financial and political crisis
Turkey had to face in the 70s. Governments were in trouble with the economic

1 The problem of labeling the resistance movement during the 70s and naming the members of left
organizations who were involved in this movement arose in the early phases of my research. There
are several terms, such as activists, victims, or more general leftists used to describe members
of the left organizations who were active in the left opposition movement. In one of the meetings I
have participated during the research, participants discussed about the problem of labeling
18
problems generated by the international oil crisis of 1973, the subsequent high
inflation rates (Zrcher 2004), and a structural crisis resulting from the
accumulation of capital since World War II (Ozan 2012). A new economic plan
was unveiled on 24 January 1980 the 24th January Stabilization Programme. It
aimed at a structural change in the economy: a shift from import substitution
industrialization to export-oriented industrialization and a free-market economy
(Savran 2003). However, these measures could not be put into practice before the
military coup due to political ambivalences and trade union opposition. On 12
September 1980, the military overthrew the government and declared a junta
regime. Soon after the declaration of martial law throughout the country,
political parties and organisations and trade unions were closed. Many militant
members and sympathizers of political organizations (including right-wing and
nationalist organizations) were arrested, tortured, executed or forced to leave the
country. Although the junta regime only lasted until the establishment of civil
government in 1983, the constitution of 1982 and the juntas institutions are still
operative. Moreover, the junta generals and other perpetrators of the juntas
crimes were not taken to court or punished until a change in the law in 2010.
12 September 1980 was one of the milestones in the modern history of
Turkey. The military coup detat was not only an intervention in the democratic
system; it was an event which radically transformed the countrys economic,
cultural and political life. While adopting neo-liberal economic politics, the junta
institutions oppressed cultural and social life (Grbilek 2009). Thus, besides the
armed forces (military, police and counter-guerrilla groups) violating the human
rights of the juntas opponents, particularly revolutionaries, the institutions of the
junta regime violated basic rights. Political party and trade union activities,
higher education, TV Broadcasting and publishing were all under the control of
these institutions. Banning and censoring became everyday activities. With the
military coup, the State Apparatus was able to exercise its power over society by
using the Repressive Apparatuses to restructure the Ideological State
Apparatuses (ISAs).
The structural changes which appeared in Turkish society after the military
coup have inevitably aroused the interest of academics of various disciplines,
foremost of all political economists (whose analyses focus on the neo-liberal
transformation after 12 September, and the cooperation of national and global
organizations during this transformation and its effects on the proletariat and

themselves. They refused to be labeled as victims since they argue that the term victimhood refers
passivity, whereas the term activist is highly used by NGOs with a more general meaning for
members of civil rights organizations. Finally, they decided that their common aim was to make a
revolution; hence the opposition movement (apart from its partiality) is being named as
revolutionary movement, therefore the correct naming for individuals would be revolutionary.
Throughout the thesis, I will be using the term revolutionary movement for the left movement of
the 70s in Turkey and the term revolutionary for the active members who were involved in the
movement.
19
trade unions), but also researchers in the fields of cultural studies and media
studies. In addition to interest in the transformation of political, economic and
cultural life, some researchers are interested in the civil movements generated
after the 1980s. New models of civil movements, with demands regarding
identity and gender politics, were generated due to the oppression of the left
during and after the coup detat. Prominent among these are the Kurdish national
struggle (Bakaya 2012) and feminism (Bora and Gnal 2002, Tekeli 1990).
The majority of studies on the 12 September, however, focus on analyses of
general structures at the macro level, whereas the experiences of the actors
remain in the field of memoirs, autobiographies, or fiction. Nevertheless,
biographies are not only individual life stories but they are products of society,
and hence necessarily reflect the general structures it is produced by.
Biographies make it possible to combine history, society and individual
processes of meaning (Mills 1959, quoted in Kupferberg 2012). This study,
therefore, aims to fill the gap between actors and social structures by analyzing
biographies as reconstructions of changing political, economic and historical
conditions.
One problem lies in the conceptualization and use of the term collective
memory. Mithat Sancar, in his recent book on confrontation with the past,
emphasizes the difficulty of conceptualization (as well as the translation of the
concepts of memory into Turkish), particularly in terms of confrontation with
difficult pasts (2007: 25-35). A similar argument could be applied to the term
collective memory. In practice, the term is used in Turkey to substitute or to
ascribe static historical and/or social characteristics to the past. However,
Maurice Halbwachs (1992 [1925]), who used and developed the term collective
memory argues that the dynamic process of reconstructing the past depends on
present thoughts, necessities, beliefs and conditions. Collective memory is
principally a process and not a thing, a faculty rather than a place (Olick 2008:
159). This study seeks to understand the dynamic process of reconstructing the
past as conceived by Halbwachs, by focusing on revolutionaries who
experienced the same past. To investigate the effects of present conditions on
the process of reconstructing the past of 12 September, a comparative approach
is employed. By comparing the narratives and mnemonic practices of exiles
living in Germany and revolutionaries residing in Turkey, the study demonstrates
the role of the interaction of past experiences with present conditions in
reconstructing the past.
Halbwachs theory of collective memory not only emphasizes the effect of
present conditions on forming the past, but he also highlights the role of shifting
social frameworks in reconstructing memory. Thus, he takes memory out of the
individual field of the subjective mind and places it in the social field of
collective consciousness. He writes that it is in society that people normally
acquire their memories. It is also in society that they recall, recognize, and

20
localize their memories (Halbwachs 1992: 38). Accordingly, social frameworks
(family, religion, education, etc.) along with material frameworks time and
space reconstruct the perception and memory of the past over and again.
Halbwachs emphasis on social frameworks of memory is crucial to the
theoretical and methodological approaches adopted in this study. I argue that
there are similarities between Halbwachs theory of collective memory, as it is
structured by external social relations, and Louis Althussers (1971) discussion
of ideology. Althusser contributes to the Marxist concept of State Apparatuses
(which are understood as the repressive apparatus that operates to the profit of
the bourgeoisie by dominating the lower classes) with his analyses of Ideological
State Apparatuses (ISAs). He thus examines some institutions that function as
ISAs, such as religious, educational and family ones. ISAs, in his opinion,
function together with the repressive state apparatus to oppress lower classes by
structuring the collective consciousness. In other words they are the tools for
imposing the ideology of the ruling class.
From the methodological point of view, to analyze the structures of
collective consciousness and the effects of social frameworks on memory,
ethnographic participant observation is used in this study together with
biographical narrative interviews. Analysis of commemorative practices is
decisive in the understanding of meaning-making processes, and thus the
collective element embedded in life stories.
The study is of significance to the method of biographical research, as it
contributes to its current use in memory studies by stressing and empirically
elaborating its coherence for the analysis of collective memory. The study shows
that the dynamic structure of the collective memory, as conceived by Halbwachs,
can be analyzed using biographical case reconstruction (Rosenthal 1993; 2004;
2006), which stresses the two main characteristics of life stories; life as it is
experienced (erlebte Lebensgeschichte) and life as it is narrated (erzhlte
Lebensgeschichte). I discuss the biographical case reconstruction method its
basic analytical steps and its features which overlap with the theory of collective
memory in detail in the methodology chapter. However, for a better
understanding of my focus on the analysis of life histories and life stories in this
study, I shall first turn to the research questions and the design of the study.

1.2 Research design and the research questions

Collective memory is far from monolithic (Olick 2008: 159); it is diverse and
multiple (Schittenhelm 1999). Depending on their historical conditions, groups
experience the past differently. In the case of the structural changes that appeared
in society after the military coup in Turkey, it is to be expected that every single
group, irrespective of age, gender, ethnicity, religion or class etc., was subject to

21
these radical changes to various extents. Hence, it is assumed that not only the
opposing groups (left- and right-wing political groups, the proletariat and
capitalists, victims and perpetrators, women and men, ethnic/religious minorities
and Turks/Muslims) but also the revolutionary groups have experienced the past
of the 12 September in various ways. The study primarily focuses on the past of
the 12 September as it is experienced, remembered and narrated by the
revolutionary groups. To understand the effect of present conditions on memory
it is necessary to make a comparison between (at least) two groups who
experienced the same past as members of the same group, but have different
surroundings in the present. I therefore chose to conduct the research with
political exiles living in Germany and revolutionaries still residing in Turkey.
The main criteria for sampling the groups were having been involved in the
revolutionary movement during the 70s in Turkey and being engaged in a
political organization or an NGO in the present. Factors other than these two
criteria, such as ethnic, religious, or occupational differences were not
considered. However, I was careful to interview revolutionaries from the same
age group, and to have an equal number of men and women interviewees. As
mentioned previously, the biographical narrative interview method (Schtze
1976; 1983) was used for the life stories, in addition to participant observation
and expert interviews. Practices to commemorate 12 September in Turkey and
Germany were observed and analyzed to understand the collective embedded in
the biographical narratives, and to identify the present collective consciousness
through which the collective memory of the revolutionaries is reconstructed.
Issues regarding the sampling criteria and the methods of data collection
and analysis are further discussed in the methodology chapter. Nevertheless, it is
worth mentioning here once again that the variety of revolutionary groups in
Turkey and Germany generates the question of representation. To overcome this
problem, I look for two basic criteria for the selection of organizations and
events.
Commemorative events are organized by federations or platforms which are
constituted by various groups. I participated in events in Germany organized by
the ATK (Avrupa Trkiyeli iler Konfederasyonu the Confederation of
Workers from Turkey Europe), the DDF (Demokratik i Dernekleri
Federasyonu the Federation of Democratic Worker Organizations), and the
TDAY (the Human Rights Organization Turkey / Germany
Menschenrechtsverein Trkei/Deutschland). In Turkey I witnessed events held
by the Federation of Revolutionary 78s (Devrimci 78'liler Federasyonu) and the
Human Rights Organization (nsan Haklar Dernei HD). The strategy of
participating in events organized by umbrella organizations provided
observations of various left-wing organizations, although even these
organizations are identified with certain groups.

22
 The structure and content of the events conferences, panels etc. are not
subject to the analyses of commemorative practices, even though I followed
these sorts of activities in order to support my arguments concerning the political
and historical conditions of collective memory.
Above all, since the research aims to analyze the relation between life
stories and the collective consciousness and practices in which the biographies
are reconstructed, events by the organizations that the interviewees were engaged
in were of particular interest. Between 2009 and 2013 I conducted 19
biographical narrative interviews (ten in Germany and nine in Turkey), four
expert interviews, and participated in tens of commemorative events.

Research Questions

The research questions of the study can be classified according to three basic
topics of the research: those regarding the reconstruction of the collective
memory (dialectical relation between past experiences and present social
frameworks); those concerning how revolutionaries narrate their past
experiences; and lastly those regarding the relation between the collective and
the individual, hence relating to the features corresponding between the
commemorations and the biographical narratives. The questions are as follows:

How is the collective memory of 12 September being reconstructed by the

revolutionary groups?

- What kinds of similarities/differences exist between the processes of

reconstructing the past by exiles and revolutionaries residing in Turkey? Hence,
what is the role of present conditions in collective memory?
- How do recent political upheavals affect the memory of 12 September?
- What are the essential characteristics of the memory of 12 September and how
are they being reconstructed and practised in and through mnemonic practices,
memory places and mnemonic tools?

How are past experiences narrated in the life stories of the revolutionaries?

- How and to what extent are political, economic and cultural changes and events
being remembered by the revolutionaries?
- What are the main differences/similarities between the structures of the life
stories (topics, turning points, text types)?
- How are the revolutionary movement, the coup, imprisonment, physical and
psychological violence, loss of a loved one and becoming an exile narrated?

23
What are the corresponding features between commemorations and biographical
narratives?

- Which social frameworks have been (and are) decisive in the past (and in the
present) in the memory of the past?
- What are the basic characteristics of the commemorative practices in terms of
myths, symbols, and rituals?

These questions are discussed throughout the study by means of the theoretical
and methodological approaches to collective memory. The empirical findings of
the study are presented particularly in chapters 5 and 6 of the thesis. A brief
introduction to the structure of the whole study is elaborated in the following
section.
However, before concluding this section one point should be mentioned
about the language of the study. Following the arguments of feminist scholars
and ethnographers, I have tried throughout the study to avoid using turgid and
polysyllabic prose and falling into the traps of socspeak, as Mills perfectly
describes it in his The Sociological Imagination (1959: 9). Instead, risking future
criticisms about scientific objectivity, I have not followed the rules of hygienic
research (Stanley and Wise 1993: 153) nor the traditional method of presenting
research findings in which the use of passive constructions denies the presence of
the researcher. Instead, by emphasizing the presence of the researcher, I want
readers to remember the interaction between the interviewer and the interviewed,
which plays a role in the reconstruction of life stories.

1.3 Structure of the study

As briefly outlined in the previous sections of this chapter, I argue, using

Halbwachs theory of collective memory, that remembering the past is a dynamic
process and dependent on the conditions of the present, while present conditions
are products of the past past norms, values, traditions, thoughts, power
relations. Ancient thinkers argued over the dialectical relation between past and
present long before Halbwachs. For instance, Aristotle argues that memory is
always realized through reasoning. The process of reasoning distinguishes
memory from being merely a perception of images which is practised in the
present. Hence, he says memory is perception of the present but memory is of
the past (Aristotle [2004]) and perception of the present always relies on what
we have formerly seen, heard or experienced. Halbwachs emphasises the social
character of memory by demonstrating the power of social frameworks in
reconstructing the past. He argues that social frameworks (religion, family, class)
structure the collective consciousness through which individuals memories of

24
the past are shaped. In chapter 2, after briefly reviewing theoretical discussions
of memory from ancient philosophers to modern thinkers, I argue how memory
is understood as a social phenomenon in Halbwachs theory of collective
memory. Then, by demonstrating the similarities between Halbwachs
argumentation on social frameworks and Althussers theory of Ideological State
Apparatuses, I aim to provide the theoretical basis for the concepts and social
types generated through the analysis of the biographies and memory practices
regarding 12 September. The second part of the chapter considers some recent
concepts in memory studies, such as cultural/communicative memory (Aleida
Assmann and Jan Assmann), postmemory (Marianne Hirsch), and the theoretical
framework of memory practices (Pierre Nora, Paul Connerton). Finally, by
focusing on the concept of cultural trauma (Caruth, Alexander), I discuss how
individuals experience, and thus remember, a traumatic past according to the
historical, cultural and social structures and relations by which they are
surrounded.
Chapter 3 focuses on the research design: the qualitative methods of
participant observation and biographical narrative interviewing; and field
experiences such as the problems of building trust and entering the field. In
addition, this chapter contains a discussion of the biographical case
reconstruction method and its compatibility with collective memory studies.
Hence, the analytical steps in the biographical case reconstruction method, and in
particular how lived life and narrated life are analyzed separately, as proposed by
Rosenthal, are discussed in detail to demonstrate the features of it which overlap
with collective memory theory and how the dynamic structure of reconstructing
the past is analyzed in this study.
Chapter 4 consists of three main sections. These cover the historical,
economic and social background of 12 September; the history of the
revolutionary movement of the 70s in transnational politics; and the Turkish
revolutionary movement in Germany. Marx writes in The Eighteenth Brumaire
of Louis Bonaparte (1852) that Men make their own history, but they do not
make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but
under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The
tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the
living. In this chapter, I examine the circumstances through which the
revolutionary movement was generated, assuming that understanding the
memory of 12 September would not be possible without knowing the historical
background to the military coup and the revolutionary movement. Moreover, to
analyze the mnemonic practices and narrations of the revolutionaries, it is crucial
to understand the oppression (physical and ideological) that they experienced and
how the State Apparatus exercised its power over the revolutionary movement
while restructuring social, economic, political and cultural life.

25
 Chapters 5 and 6 analyze the memory of 12 September of exiles in
Germany and revolutionaries in Turkey in two forms; collective practices and
biographical narratives. Thus, the former chapter focuses on commemorative
practices, and the construction and use of myths, symbols and rituals, while the
latter focuses on the biographies. Chapter 5 contains analyses of commemorative
events as well as of memory places. Events commemorating 12 September, both
in Germany and Turkey, are analyzed in order to understand their power in
biographical narrations. By focusing on the use of myths, the construction of
symbols and ritual action I argue that the traditional links of the left-wing
movement are formally similar to conservative religious practices. Similarly, by
comparing the processes of producing memory places, namely the 12 September
Shame Museum and the Ulucanlar Prison Museum, I demonstrate similarities in
the reconstruction of the past by opposing groups.
Chapter 6 also consists of two main sections. The first focuses on the
revolutionaries memories of some events and actors of 12 September in relation
to commemorative events, and the second aims to generate the concepts involved
in reconstructing the past of 12 September. In short, chapter 6 analyzes the
collective embedded in the individual by demonstrating how the revolutionaries
tend to reconstruct the past depending on their recent relations with social
frameworks. In this chapter I also argue that political involvement is the
dominant element in the memory of 12 September in comparison to a radical
shift or a change of place. By comparing the reconstruction of the past of 12
September by exiles and revolutionaries in Turkey, I observe that there exist
more similarities than differences, which was assumed at the beginning of the
project. By using the concept of frozen memory, I argue that memory of 12
September is considered a part of their collective identity by exiles in Germany
and that change only plays a role when changes appear in home politics, but not
when they take place in the spatial framework.
The Conclusion summarizes the empirical findings presented in chapters 5
and 6 in relation to the social frameworks of collective memory. I also discuss
recent developments concerning 12 September and the politics of the AKP
government, and how these recent changes are interpreted by the revolutionaries
in Turkey and Germany. It is also shown that the revolutionaries both in Turkey
and Germany tend to reconstruct the past more critically when their links with
the politics of the past are weakened. In addition, I show how the continuing
oppression by the junta institutions structures both the memories of the
revolutionaries and the commemorative practices. By stressing the findings of
the research in relation to recent politics of memory, the chapter aims to rethink
the confrontation of the past of 12 September, which would be possible by not
merely focusing on structural changes but also by involving the experiences of
the actors (revolutionaries, victims and witnesses, and also perpetrators).

26
2. Theories of memory

Memory is a phenomenon broadly studied by social scientists from various

disciplines, such as history, political science, psychology, sociology, cultural
studies, media studies, anthropology and linguistics, and it is obviously a subject
of study of the cognitive sciences, neurosciences, and genetics. Thinkers have
been trying to understand the capacity of individuals and societies to conserve
and preserve images, experiences and knowledge of things past since ancient
times. In addition, remembering things past is vital to the processes of
constructing collective consciousness and collective identity. Hence, some
thinkers put more emphasis on mnemonic practices and mnemonic tools to
understand how societies recollect, reconstruct and practise memory. This
chapter aims to provide an overview of the various theories of memory, starting
with oral traditions, institutionalization of the past, modernity and oblivion, and
memory as a social faculty. Furthermore, the social dynamics of commemorative
practices and the functions of memory sites are discussed. Different approaches
and concepts of memory, such as mnemohistory, cultural and communicative
memory and postmemory are also examined in the chapter. Finally, collective
memory will be related to cultural trauma theory.

2. 1 Memory in oral traditions

In his Dialogues, Plato cites a conversation about the invention of writing

between Theuth and Thamus, the king of Naucratis in Egypt, as told by Socrates.
When Theuth invented writing, he is presumed, among other things, to have
explained its uses to King Thamus. To convince the king of the usefulness of
writing he claimed that writing would help men to improve their memory. He
said, Here O king, is a branch of learning that will make the people of Egypt
wiser and improve their memories; my discovery provides a recipe for memory
and wisdom. However, the King was not convinced by what Theuth told him
about his 'great' invention, and he replied, what you have discovered is a recipe
not for memory, but for reminding. And it is no true wisdom that you offer your
disciples, but only its semblance, for by telling them about many things without
teaching them you will make them seem to know much, while for the most part
they will know nothing, and as men filled, not with wisdom, but with the conceit
of wisdom, they will be a burden to their fellows.

27

E. Karacan, Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military Coup dtat,

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9_2, Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
 Unfortunately we are not able to know from Socrates' story how much
Theuth was disappointed by this response from the King rejecting his invention
of writing, but obviously humanity followed Theuth rather than Thamus, even in
its desire to invent new techniques for recollecting. The function of memory has
been an attractive topic of debate for philosophers since Ancient times. This, and
how men can remember better were probably vital questions for our ancient
ancestors, who relied on oral tradition.2 Why did men need to train memory?
Simply put, in ancient times, just as in modern ones, men needed historical
continuity in time, and wanted to transfer their experiences and knowledge to the
next generations, which required good memory techniques. On the other hand,
the transmission of experiences and knowledge to following generations is
realized in the form of myths, customs and rituals, which also provide and
reassure the identity of groups.
The technique to train memory called ars memorativa is also the title of
Frances Yates major work in which she explains the origin of this term known
since ancient times through the well-known story of the Poet Simonides. Later,
in the medieval period, the technique was often explained in terms of
architecture. According to this system of Simonides, which would later be called
mnemonics, it was possible to train memory by placing the images of things and
words in an imagined place in the mind in a specific order, just like placing
furniture in the empty rooms of a house. If we think of the times when man did
not have any other container or storage except his mind to store knowledge, we
can understand the importance of such a system of mnemonics, as it would
certainly provide advantages to those who train themselves in it.
There is, however, nothing social about the technique of ars memorativa,
which basically entails reducing the recollection of the images of things and
events in memory to a technical tool. Remembering, however, involves a process
of meaning-making. In mythology, except for myths like the Homeric epics that
are close to poetry, the myth-story does not remain the same when it is told by
different storytellers (Vernant 2002). Instead, the most important thing is to
transfer the meanings and the values of the society that are embedded in the
story, which does not rely on a technique for memorizing names, words and their
order, but on understanding, perception and remembering. In addition, this kind
of storytelling, far from being a technique, is also crucial to the performance of
narration. Unlike the technique of ars memorativa, the creativity of the
storyteller is more important than memorizing things word for word. Storytellers
in such societies are seen as performers, and thus they are expected to keep alive
the attention of their audiences and they need to be creative. Jack Goody argues

2 With the term 'oral tradition' I do not simply refer to societies that existed historically before the
medieval or even ancient period. Rather, the term refers to a society without writing or to a society
in which the capacity to produce and understand written symbols (i.e. Literacy) is confined to a small
social, political or religious elite (Misztal 2003b: 27).
28
that a verbatim narrative which can be possible using memory techniques like
ars memorativa would prevent creativity, whereas in storytelling every
performance is also a creative act and there is no distinct separation between
performer and creator; that dichotomy does not exist (Goody 1998: 92). This
was also the concern of King Thamus when he rejected the invention of writing,
a technique, like ars memorativa, which would result in better memorizing but
not necessarily 'true wisdom'.

2. 2 Institutionalization of the past

The problem of preserving, storing and transmitting images and knowledge

makes memory take a new turn in written cultures in Europe with the extensive
usage of print technology. However, Misztal writes that understanding the past
as historical was only possible two centuries after printing was invented, since
in the Middle Ages, memory enjoyed a high status not only because it was
valued enormously as a container of virtues and an instrument of thought, but
also because of concern about loss of knowledge, since until the eighteenth
century even printed books were not perceived as a safe container of knowledge
(Yeo, in Misztal 2003b: 36).
The institutionalization of memory in the discipline of history was not only
due to the invention and wide usage of print technology, and to humanity's
interest in recording past events. It was also a result of the fact that the rise of the
need to construct a national identity for the new nation states in Europe in the
18th century led to the adoption of new understandings of the past. Memory
became used as a political tool to legitimate the nation state by simply
constructing national identity through myths, commemorations and rituals. In the
introduction to their well-known edited book Invention of Tradition, Eric
Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger argue that 'traditions' which appear or claim to
be old are often quite recent in origin and sometimes invented (1983: 1). A
good example of inventing traditions is the introduction of a new calendar after
the French Revolution in 1789 marked with new official holidays and
commemorations, and also new names for the months. Connerton (1989) argues
that imitation 'mythical identification' of antiquity when inventing rites was
quite common in modern Europe between 1870 and 1914: Royal jubilees,
Bastille Day, and the Internationale, the Olympic Games, the Cup Final and the
Tour de France: all seek to restore in a new form the celebration of the
exemplary recurrent (1989: 63).
On the one hand, history was considered universal, archival, linear and in a
sense progressive during the Enlightenment, whereas tradition itself was
understood as 'irrational' (Misztal 2003b: 38). Storing the knowledge of past
events and experiences was necessary for progress in the future. The need for

29
museums, libraries and archives is generated by a fear of forgetting in modern
societies. Misztal writes:

[...] these new means of storing and preserving historical events resulted in the proliferation of
documents and archives. These were used by various institutions, such as the medical
profession and the police, to record names, dates and cases. The institutionalization of memory
in archives and museums, the increased opportunity, due to technological innovation, of
keeping a record of the past, combined with the fascination of nationalist movements with the
past, the proliferation of national histories, a growing interest in the medieval past and the
growing sophistication of historical methods, made the nineteenth century 'the century of
history' (Misztal 2003b: 43).

In Aristotle's words, this move from memory to history, from tradition to

modern, from storytellers to historians, from group-based memory practices to
national histories could also be understood as a move from remembering to
recollecting (Aristotle 2004: 47-60). Modern societies tend to recollect as much
as they can, store every single piece of knowledge, and aim to circulate it as fast
as possible. However, this does not necessarily mean they are also good at
remembering. Since the past is preserved by institutions and technological tools,
it is argued that men's need to use memory is weakened. On the other hand,
unlike oral traditions where story tellers circulate the stories of the past, with the
modern understanding of history, historians and official history institutions
which claim to be objective in providing 'true' memory appear to have the power
to interpret the past, sometimes to legitimate the existence of a nation, or to
defend the interests of elites or dominant classes.
The counterattack to the glorification of history came from Nietzsche and
Marx, together with futurists and avant-garde artists, who are opposed to 'store-
rooms' of collective memory.3 Nietzsche does not totally deplore the use of
history; instead, he argues that we need history for life and for action, not for a
comfortable turning away from life and from action or for merely glossing over
the egoistical life and the cowardly bad act (Nietzsche 2010 [1873]: 1). His
opposition is to the privileged position of history which prevents men from
taking action, continuing to live in the present and moving forward to the future.
According to him, a human being cannot reach happiness unless he learns how to
forget. In his account, the past is like chains which draw human beings back
while they try to grasp the present: there is always one way in which happiness
becomes happiness: through the ability to forget or, to express the matter in a
more scholarly fashion, through the capacity, for as long as the happiness lasts,
to sense things unhistorically (Nietzsche 2010 [1873]: 3). Historical culture, for
Nietzsche, does not allow human beings action, which also raises doubt about

3 Paul Connerton writes that the attack of the avant-garde was directed mainly against the store-
room of collective memory: museums, libraries and academies. The appeal to forget was at its most
stridently uncompromising in the manifestos of the Futurists, who denounced intellectuals as the
slaves of antiquated rites, museums as cemeteries, and libraries as burial chambers (1989: 62).
30
their existence as 'living' beings, leaving only 'thinking, writing, and speaking
machines' (Nietzsche 2010 [1873]: 17).
Similarly, Marx argues that man does not make history with his own free
will, but rather the tradition of the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on
the minds of the living (Marx [1852]). Every generation tends to act as in
Connerton's view of the repetition of ancient rites in the traditional way
followed by previous generations instead of taking a revolutionary step which
has not yet been taken. Like Nietzsche, he suggests that human beings should
forget in order to form their own ways of resisting and struggling. As men
borrow their strategies of acting from history, every social class will continue to
adopt their allotted roles whether dominant or exploited which will prevent
the working class from resisting its oppression. Marx, explaining the need to
forget, writes the beginner who has learned a new language always re-translates
it into his mother tongue; he can only be said to have appropriated the spirit of
the new language and to be able to express himself in it freely when he can
manipulate it without reference to the old, and when he forgets his original
language while using the new one (Marx [1852]).
Both Nietzsche's and Marx' critiques are against institutionalized history,
which was supposed to be universal and unique, and the unquestioning
acceptance of it as the archive of the facts. They were aware that the discipline of
history was a product of power relations, history being written to defend and
legitimate the suppressing position of the power elite. The problems of
objectivity, methods and sources for historians are the basis of debates about
different approaches to history. 4 The turn of memory, however, has been one of
the most challenging ones for historians in understanding the past. With this turn,
their sources moved from official archives to non-official documents such as
letters and diaries, from 'important' figures to 'ordinary' men, from the places of
history (e.g. nations) to places of memory (ruins, heritages, rituals,
commemorations):5 history and memory interact instead of being two different
approaches to the past.
It was Halbwachs who demonstrated the interacting and conflicting
characteristics of historical memory and collective memory. The term history
no longer refers to the chronological sequence of events and dates, but whatever
distinguishes one period from all others, something of which books and
narratives generally give us only a very schematic and incomplete picture
(Halbwachs 1992: 57). History, in contrast to memory, is not dynamic and open
to reconstruction in the present time; neither is it open to the dialectic of
remembering and forgetting (Nora 1989: 8-9). There is an interaction between

4 See, for example: Annales School

5 The term Lieux de Memoire (sites of memory) is used by Pierre Nora to argue that in the modern
age links with the milieu de memoire are weakened. For Nora, we live not in memory but between
memory and history, in places which could be named sites of memory but not milieux of memory.
31
history and memory. We tend to remember things related to historical events,
and mark our own individual memories with dates, events and names that appear
in the history of groups that we belong to, such as families, nations, religions and
social classes. Historical memory gives us the basis for reconstructing our group
memories and continuity in time, which is crucial to identity.

2. 3 Socially constructed memory

Henri Bergson takes memory as a 'definite example' of his philosophy to show

the relationship between mind and matter. He focuses on the perception and
survival of images of the past in our minds, and the body's involvement in this
process, which were acts totally performed by the individual. However, he did
not explain, nor did he want to the social frameworks for these perceptions of
matter or how images are socially constructed in the minds of individuals.
Rather, for him, subjective experience was the essential element of the
perception of images. For Durkheim, images of memory, as well as memory
practices were formed by society. Olick argues that by connecting cognitive
order (time perception) with social order (division of labour) [Durkheim has]
provided a sociological framework for studying the variability of memory raised
by Bergson. He writes:

Where Bergson rejected objectivist and materialist accounts of time in favour of the variability
of individual experience, Durkheim rejected such accounts by attending to the ways different
societies produce different concepts of time: Forms of time, like other basic categories, derive
neither from transcendental truths nor from material realities, but are social facts, varying not
according to subjective experience but according to the changing forms of social structure
(Olick 2008: 154).

According to Halbwachs, it is only in dreams that individuals recall images freed

from social constructions and meanings. Apart from that, our understanding of
the past depends on our relations with the groups we belong to. It is not in
memory but in the dream that the mind is most removed from society
(Halbwachs 1992: 42). In this sense, Halbwachs is the person who conceived that
memory is a matter of social construction and who brought memory into the field
of sociology. In the next subsections I will discuss three main aspects of his
theory of collective memory: the social frameworks of the concept, the presentist
aspect of collective memory, and finally the similarities between the term
collective memory and ideology as discussed by Althusser.

32
2.3. 1 Memory from individual to collective

Marcel Proust dipped his delicious madeleine into his tea and the taste of it
evoked childhood memories in his mind, which led him to write his novel
Remembrance of Things Past, which is often referred to in discussions of
individual voluntary and involuntary memories. A taste, a smell, or a vague
image can evoke memories in us, the whole picture of which we can hardly
complete, or at least mostly we are unable to do so. This does not mean,
however, that the memory is individual. The whole picture we are trying to
complete in these cases is a picture constructed within society, and the meanings
we give to these memories are also shaped by our social involvements. In
Halbwachs' words [...] it is in society that people normally acquire their
memories. It is also in society that they recall, recognize, and localize their
memories (1992: 38).
Nevertheless, Halbwachs does not totally reject the existence of individual
memory, which he thinks is possible in real isolation. The recollections of an
isolated individual would consist of only images without any social meanings,
which for Halbwachs means 'states of the body' but not 'states of the
consciousness'. Could perceptions of images without any meanings in terms of
consciousness be called memory? What we call the memory of an individual in
real isolation is therefore no longer memory but bodily recollections. As soon as
an individual enters the world of speech and language, in Halbwachs' term the
sphere of consciousness, he finds himself in a process of making meaning of the
things surrounding him socially. Individuals perceive things together with their
values and ideas, which are open to change as the individuals position in society
changes. And when we have a memory of the past, the memory images come
together with our perceptions, unlike Bergson's argument that the 'memory
images' (content) are preserved in the mind (container) just like the images
themselves. An image, or a smell, or a taste, awaken a memory of something or
someone which could not be followed in our mind by images, words, or names,
but strangely it is our perception of that thing or that person which comes
first. The construction of the past and recall are based on collective
consciousness. However, it is individuals as group members who remember.
[E]ach memory is a viewpoint on the collective memory, [] this viewpoint
changes as my position changes, [] this position itself changes as my
relationship to other milieus change (Halbwachs 1980: 48).
According to Halbwachs, we develop and adopt the notions, values and
ideas that already exist in society, and our perceptions of the past are constructed
through them. This process starts with language, with the exchange of words.
People living in society use words that they find intelligible: this is the
precondition for collective thought. [...] It is language, and the whole system of
social conventions attached to it, that allows us at every moment to reconstruct

33
our past (Halbwachs 1992: 173). Through language we organize, transfer and
understand the ideas, notions and values of group members, which makes it a
precondition for a collectively constructed past. Halbwachs transfers Durkheim's
theory of social consciousness and historical continuity for group solidarity to
collective memory theory. A collectively shared perspective towards the past is
necessary not only for group solidarity, but also a group's identity depends on a
common understanding of things past. Therefore, for a better understanding of
the social frameworks of memory, Halbwachs analyzes various milieus in
which all men or most of them spend their lives (Halbwachs 1992: 176) e.g.
family, religious groups, social classes. By focusing on different groups,
Halbwachs also wants to show the multiplicity of collective memory, since
individuals are members of various groups (and with modernity being based on
needs and mobility this variety is even greater) and every single group constructs
its own collective memory based on its changing positions. Thus, collective
memory is by definition multiple because there are as many memories as groups
(Misztal 2003b: 51).
The family is a group that individuals find themselves members of with or
without their own will, and which has already its own established system of
rules, customs, notions and traditions. It is also the group where we begin to
learn and adopt the notions of other social constructions. For Halbwachs, the
family is an institution in which we construct our very first recollections
through the commonly accepted notions and customs of kinship (Halbwachs
1992: 176-177). Religion is, as in the Durkheiman tradition, an even more
institutionalized social milieu which imposes a set of complex rules and customs
on groups that practise it. Through commemorations and rituals, the believers of
a religion maintain the survival of images, events and stories that were even
generated thousands of years ago. In fact, in the case of religion Halbwachs does
not insist on analyzing the present needs of groups to discover their
understanding of the past, but rather suggests looking for the religions
grounding in the past to explain its dogmas and rites, as he thinks every religion
is a survival (Halbwachs 1992: 178). Christianity, in common with other
religions, for instance, constructs its past not only by keeping religious stories
alive through rituals and commemorations, but also places marks on time. Our
perception of time, whether we practise a religion or not, is marked by the events
of religion. Religious time, marked with historical events, is also eternal in its
nature; historical because its customs are grounded in the past, and eternal since,
unlike other social constructions, religion remains beyond a specific time span.
In Halbwachs' words:

Since all the rest of social life is developed within the passage of time or duration, it stands to
reason that religion withdraws itself from this. This is the source of the idea that religion
transports us into another world, that its object is eternal and immutable, and that the religious
acts by which this idea is manifested even though they occur in a specific place and at a

34
 specific date imitate or at least symbolize this eternity and this fixity through their infinite
repetition and their uniform aspect (1992: 92).

In his analyses of the functions of collective memory among social classes,

Halbwachs argues that since ancient times social classes have differentiated
themselves from each other with a totality of notions and traditions, which can
also be invented if necessary (1992: 134). Amongst the nobility, the names of
families, their titles and their histories function as tools to ensure the privileged
noble people's relationships to the people from other classes, and are also a way
of showing the wealth and rank of a noble family. Therefore, the history of
families is transferred to the next generations, just as power relations are
reproduced from generation to generation. In the case of nobility it is the names
and titles which construct the social frameworks, whereas among the commercial
and artisan classes, Halbwachs says, it is the tasks and professions. Therefore a
noble cannot be reduced to his function; he cannot become a simple instrument
or a cog-wheel, but is rather an element or component of the very substance of
the society (1992: 128). Considering changes that have appeared in the history
of social classes, Halbwachs discusses how constructions of the past, of notions,
values and thoughts, have a dynamic structure which makes them open to change
according to present needs. In doing this, he is simply pointing out that changes
have appeared in the perception of social classes and of their functions from
ancient times to the extraprofessional social life of contemporary society, with a
special emphasis on nobility, which was weakened by the notions brought by the
bourgeoisie. He states that: ... they [nobles] slowly became forgotten and no
longer performed the functions that fell into decay and were taken over by
people of bourgeois origin. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries an entire
section of the old nobility of race, blood, and sword dissolved in this manner
(1992: 132).
However, even though the nobility dissolved as a result of the bourgeoisie's
new interests, and social frameworks of memory modified, the function of the
nobility has not been dissolved, but instead it has been modified and adopted by
the new social classes in terms of professions. It is also possible to say that while
it was the nobles who were the main supporters of the traditions (1992: 139), it
is the bourgeois in commercial and artisan society, since bourgeois society has
continued, the manners of bourgeois values copied and still copy the typical
judgments of the nobility (1992: 143). In capitalist patriarchal society, it is the
wealthy upper class which uses traditional values to legitimate its power and
wealth.6 As Bauman writes ... the group actions derive their meaning from

6 Halbwachs writes In any case, necessary fictions helped to save, if not titles, at least the chief
substance of them. Society respects wealth because it respects persons who are rich, in terms of the
moral qualities that it assumes in them (1992: 153).
35
tradition. Historical action human existence as such, as it were is, to borrow
Heidegger's expression, a constant recapitulation of tradition (Bauman 1982: 3).
With this change from a hierarchy of values to a hierarchy of functions, and
their strength in constructing the social frameworks of social memory,
Halbwachs shows there are some values and notions which are always
generated and transferred through tradition (1992: 146) that remain the same or
are only slightly modified but have continued to function in the same manner
from ancient times to modern society. This complex set of values and notions is
transmitted by means of the traditions supported and practised by social groups
such as the family, religions and social classes.

2.3. 2 The presentist aspect of collective memory

According to Halbwachs' theory of collective memory, to provide solidarity and

continuity, groups modify the memory of the past according to the necessities of
the present. This is a dynamic process of constructing the past, and of generating
a collectively shared present which is based on an 'agreed' common past. In his
theory, neither past nor present is prior to each other; rather, he analyzes how the
past is active in present constructions, notions and values of present social
frameworks, and on the other hand how the present has control over forming the
past in regard to meeting its recent needs. He writes:

We might perhaps be led to distinguish two kinds of activities within social thought: on the one
hand a memory, that is, a framework made out of notions that serve as landmarks for us and
that refer exclusively to the past; on the other hand a rational activity that takes its point of
departure in the conditions in which the society at the moment finds itself, in other words, in
the present (1992: 183).

In Halbwachs' theory of collective memory it is hard to speak about the present's

superiority over the past. Past and present are always in interaction in the
collective memory of groups since the continuity and solidarity of groups are
essential for their survival. He even writes [a]fter all, the present, if we consider
the area of collective thought that it occupies, weighs very little in comparison to
the past (1992: 183). What he wants to denote with the term 'collective thought'
are obviously the notions, values and ideas that are transferred from one
generation to another (if not invented under the inspiration of already existing
ones) in the collective memories of groups.
However, he is often criticized for his presentist approach, for putting more
emphasis on the role of the present in the construction of the past and
underestimating the power of the past of societies to construct their recent
existences, identities, etc. Barry Schwartz (1982), for instance, argues that
Halbwachs' idea of construction of the past according to present needs promotes

36
the idea that our conception of the past is entirely at the mercy of current
conditions, that there is no objectivity in events, nothing in history which
transcends the peculiarities of the present (Schwartz 1982: 376). However,
Halbwachs repeatedly mentions that for a better understanding of collective
memory we need to look at the sources of groups' present thoughts and actions in
the past. For him, traditions have a strong influence on present rituals, and if a
group needs to invent new ideas (new traditions as Hobsbawm would put it),
they have to be adopted by society in general to survive: [n]ew ideas would not
succeed if they arose within the family itself if they responded, for example, to
a need for independence and renewal abruptly felt by certain of its members.
Tradition would quickly overcome such resistance or such temporary revolts.
[] Principles can be replaced only by other principles and traditions by other
traditions (1992: 185). His theory of collective memory as a twofold process
with reconstruction of the past and construction of the present both as active
elements is further supported by historian Eric Hobsbawm (1983) in his
introduction to the book he edited together with Terence Ranger, The Invention
of Tradition. Hobsbawm's main focus is on how societies transform norms,
rituals and traditions of the past and in their absence they tend to invent new
ones based on old customs in order to fulfil the needs of the society in the
present. However, Hobsbawm is more interested in the practices of traditions and
the preconditions for construction/invention. At the very beginning of his
discussion in The Invention of Traditions, he clearly states what he means by the
concept of inventing traditions: 'Invented tradition' is taken to mean a set of
practices, normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules and of a ritual
or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of
behaviour by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with the past
(Hobsbawm 1983: 1).
As the combination of the terms invention and tradition risks causing
confusion, Hobsbawm warns his readers of two phenomena that should not be
understood as tradition: customs and convention, or routine. Tradition is a
dominating force in traditional societies, while the functions of the latter are
more practical (1983: 2-3). Hobsbawm shows how European countries have
invented traditions to legitimize their existence as nations. National anthems,
flags, even new calendars are adopted as symbols of a collectively 'imagined
past', and are employed in rituals and commemorations in order to provide a
historical continuity for groups or nations in a wider sense. However, the
survival of these newly invented traditions is always dependent on groups using
them in practice. In Halbwachs' understanding, when present-day ideas are not in
a clear opposition to traditions they take the form of traditions themselves. The
process occurs in this way: [a]s soon as each person and each historical fact has
permeated [] memory, it is transposed into a teaching, a notion, or a symbol
and takes on a meaning. It becomes an element of the society's system of ideas.

37
This explains why traditions and present-day ideas can exist side by side. In
reality present-day ideas are also traditions, and both refer at the same time and
with the same right to an ancient or recent social life from which they in some
way took their point of departure (Halbwachs 1992: 188). It is clear that for
Halbwachs there is no hierarchy of present time, or present-day ideas dominating
the perception of the past; rather for him it is a two-fold process of traditions
being modified by present-day ideas and the past, in turn, being transformed in
the present according to the needs and beliefs of the present.

2.3. 3 Social frameworks of collective memory as ideology

Although there are many similarities between Halbwachs' theory of collective

memory and Louis Althusser's theory of ideology, this relationship has not been
highlighted by researchers into memory. Aleida Assmann (2008), in her article
Transformations between History and Memory, mentions that the term
collective memory is just another name for ideology (2008: 52) for Susan
Sontag. However she provides no further discussion of Sontag's understanding of
ideology. Sontag argues that there is no such thing as collective memory, but
rather collective instruction; [a]ll memory is individual, unreproducible it dies
with each person. What is called collective memory is not a remembering but a
stipulating: that this is important, and this is the story about how it happened,
with the pictures that lock the story in our minds (Sontag 2003: 86). As I have
previously argued in this chapter, although it is the individual who remembers
and who has recollections of images, thoughts, notions and values (which are all
constructed socially), apart from dreams since this is the only case where
individuals are isolated from social frameworks there is no individual memory
but only collective. Sontag fails to distinguish between individuals remembering
and collective memories of the subject which are always constructed (over and
over again) within society. An individual remembering does not mean that his
memory is freed from its social construction, which also includes 'collective
instructions'. Even memories which to us seem totally individual are collective,
because we give meanings to past stories from a certain perspective which we
have gained within the social groups we are part of. The notions and values that
we hold together with our thoughts are always active during the processes of
recollection and remembering. Therefore, it is important to examine the question
of how individuals are turned into subjects of collective memories, or, in
Sontag's words, 'collective instruction'.
This vital point is explored by Halbwachs in great detail in On Collective
Memory, where he also demonstrates how remembering individuals are members
of groups, and each group also modifies its perspective of the past according to
its position among other groups, by analyzing social institutions. The similarity

38
between Halbwachs' theory of collective memory and Althusser's theory of
ideology is not limited to the institutions they both analyze (the family, religion,
social classes, etc.) but the definition and the function of both terms are also
similar. So far, I have discussed Halbwachs conceptualization of collective
memory, but the term ideology remains behind the curtains (which is also its
major characteristic). What, then, is ideology?
For Marx, ideology is a superstructure: the system of the ideas and
representations which dominate the mind of a man or a social group (Althusser
1972: 158). For Althusser, ideology is practised both by Repressive State
Apparatuses (the Army, the Police, Courts, Prisons) where 'violence' is
combined with ideology and by Ideological State Apparatuses (the family,
religion, schools, trade unions etc.) where ideology is combined with
repression. He argues that the material existence of ideology is not an abstract,
ambivalent, imaginary thing, but ideology always exists in an apparatus, and its
practice, or practices. This existence is material (1972: 166). Although it has
an imaginary relation to real relations (1972: 167) its material existence is
realized in practices such as rituals, ceremonies, etc. He writes:

[I]deology talks of actions: I shall talk of actions inserted into practices. And I shall point out
that these practices are governed by the rituals in which these practices are inscribed, within
the material existence of an ideological apparatus, be it only a small part of that apparatus: a
small mass in a small church, a funeral, a minor match at a sports' club, a school day, a political
party meeting, etc. (1972: 168).

An imaginary relation (ideology) turns into real relations within the

activities/practices of individuals in their participation in group activities, which
also turn them into subjects. It is no more individual than the subjects: ideology
interpellates individuals as subjects (1972: 170) a practising Christian, or
someones spouse, a member of X football team, a student of Y university etc.
[A]n individual is always already a subject, even before he is born (1972: 176)
since, as Althusser states, parts of his/her identity; such as his/her surname the
social framework so to say of the particular family the child is born into, or in
Althussers term the family ideology has already been constituted even before
he/she was born. Other social frameworks/Ideological State Apparatuses (ISAs),
such as gender roles (he/she becomes a sexual subject), school, religion are all
set of rituals and customs embedded in the practices of these
institutions/frameworks. Halbwachs also discusses the power of names and
naming, which also means transforming an individual into a subject. For him, the
functions of first names are to establish kinship links, which refer to collectively
shared recollections, as well as being able to address the individual; they are
'material signs' that give birth to characteristic impressions. For this reason, first
names, even though they have been chosen without taking the subject to which
they are applied into consideration, seem to be part of their subject's nature

39
(Halbwachs 1992: 72). For Halbwachs, family is also an institution which
transfers values, judgments and perspectives to the next generations, through
family memories:
[I]n the most traditional societies of today, each family has its proper mentality, its memories
which it alone commemorates, and its secrets that are revealed only to its members. But these
memories, as in the religious traditions of the family of antiquity, consist not only of a series of
individual images of the past. They are at the same time models, examples, and elements of
teaching (1992: 59).

Halbwachs shows how some traditions function by securing or legitimizing the

position of certain groups using the example of noble titles. Why did people
simply accept that they should respect noble families until the bourgeois
demolished their power? Their power was either based on wealth or military
successes and was secured symbolically by their family names and titles so that
the coming generations also occupied the same high rank in society and were
respected by others. This is something people learn in society, and consciously
accept or not that they will carry it on depending on the power and benefits of
their own groups. This is also how ideologies are practised; they are practised
through the memories of groups which have the power of transforming
individuals into subjects. Althusser's example of a policeman hailing somebody
in a public place clearly demonstrates how this transformation is realized. It is a
simplistic example: 'Hey, you there!'...[t]he hailed individual will turn round.
By this mere one-hundred-and-eighty-degree physical conversion, he becomes a
subject. [] The existence of ideology and the hailing or interpellation of
individuals as subjects is one and the same thing (1972: 174). We learn the
meaning and the function of the police in society, as well as the meaning of
actions, because none of them are free from values, notions and thoughts, or,
speaking generally, customs and traditions. In Halbwachs' words one gets a
glimpse of the character of the actors not just as developed by the role they play
in this scene, but also in terms of their habitual style and entire history (1992:
60).
The second essential similarity between Halbwachs' collective memory and
Althusser's ideology is the historical/presentist explanation of the concept.
Althusser's thesis that Ideology has no history does not imply that ideology is
a pure illusion, a pure dream, i.e. nothingness (1972: 159) as Marx puts it in
The German Ideology. He argues that ideologies have a history of their own
(although it is determined in the last instance by the class struggle); [] I think it
is possible to hold that ideology in general has no history, not in a negative sense
(its history is external to it) but in an absolutely positive sense (1972: 160-161).
What does having a history of their own mean, and what do we understand
from having no history? The power of ideologies is generated by their ability to
function in the present time by restructuring its traditions as realities of the
present society. This is what Halbwachs argues with his thesis that collective
40
memory is reconstructed in the present time, although its notions, customs and
traditions are borrowed from the past. He shows how our moral and social values
are historically determined by the classes we are members of and widely known
by other social groups/other ISAs, such as families, friends, in the newspapers
and in literature (1992: 150). He writes:

It was acknowledged that, in the wealthy classes more than in other classes, is to be found
mastery of self, a spirit of sacrifice, a firm disposition to live up to one's ideas, a sharper sense
of honesty and priority, more loyalty and fidelity in friendship, more stable family virtues, and
an irreproachable moral purity. Poverty became equivalent to immorality, and legislation
concerning the poor treated beggars like culprits. These ideas, preserved in collective memory,
became grounded in the experience of the virtues or at least in the manifestations of virtue
of the wealthy.
[...] When we think of such virtues even today, we call to mind the memory of those who
were the first to preach and practise them. The prestige that still today is linked to wealth can
be explained at least in part by the feeling that the modern idea of virtue was elaborated in the
wealthy class, and that the first and most memorable examples of it can be found in that class
(1992: 150-151).

Capitalist societies have a necessity to repeatedly invent new moral social values
and traditions to mark and strengthen the power of the ruling class and those who
are privileged. The newly invented traditions, however, take their power, and
hence their legitimation, from previously adopted values forms and practices.
Although they may appear new, they have historical roots. If I may finish my
argument by referring to Halbwachs again, he writes: Behind a title, a virtue, or
a quality, society immediately perceives those who possess them. Those groups
and persons exist in the passage of time and leave their traces in the memory of
people. In this sense, there is no social idea that would not at the same time be a
recollection of the society (1992: 188).

2.4 Cultural memory and communicative memory

Halbwachs' legacy of collective memory, his thesis of the dynamic structure of

the phenomenon, its social frameworks, and the presentist aspect of memory is
discussed by contemporary thinkers from various disciplines, such as history,
sociology, cultural studies and linguistics. Some of the prominent studies focus
on how memory is mediated between individuals and groups, some deal with the
process of transferring memory from generation to generation; others are more
interested in mnemonic practices and products. This section focuses in particular
cultural and communicative memory as conceptualized by Jan Assmann and
Aleida Assmann, their contribution to the theory of collective memory.
Halbwachs' theory of collective memory constituted the basis for later
works on memory studies which provide further discussion of the functions of
collective memory. If collective memory supports the solidarity and continuity of
41
groups, how can we distinguish the memory practices among various groups
according to their duration and function? Jan Assmann and Aleida Assmann
argue that memory is cultural and communicative. These characteristics are
based on its duration of survival in society and whether it is stable or not.
Communicative memory is limited with temporal horizon and has no fixed
points (Assmann J. 1995: 127-129). According to Jan Assmann, this temporal
horizon does not extend more than eighty to (at the very most) one hundred
years into the past, which equals three or four generations or the Latin saeculum
(1995: 127, original emphasis). Communicative memory is memory which is
practised in daily life (the Assmanns also call it Everyday memory), but since
it has no 'fixed points' such as rites, monuments or texts, it lasts as long as it is
needed by the existing generation. Cultural memory, on the other hand, is
'distanced from the everyday', and has its own fixed points (faithful events of
the past, [...] and institutional communication, which the Assmanns call figures
of memory (1995: 129)), and these help it to survive longer. But more important
than its duration in time, cultural memory has the characteristic of the
concretion of identity (1995: 130). Jan Assmann explains it thus: Cultural
memory preserves the store of knowledge from which a group derives an
awareness of its unity and peculiarity. The objective manifestations of cultural
memory are defined through a kind of identificatory determination in a positive
(We are this) or in a negative (That's our opposite) sense (1995: 130).
But how is the knowledge which is stored and transferred through tools
(such as rituals, commemorations, texts, monuments, etc.) and institutions (such
as the media, archives, museums, landscapes in general) constructed? How is this
knowledge, embedded in cultural memory, transferred if not through everyday
memory the Assmanns communicative memory? Or to put it the other way
round, could it not be the case that communicative memory functions as identity
construction whether in a positive (We are this) or in a negative (That's our
opposite) way within the time limits of a group (let us say four generations),
without having any fixed points? Here I do not mention the role of memory as
identity construction or in storing knowledge in oral cultures, nor do I want to
make a comparison between oral and literary cultures to discuss the difference
between the Assmanns categories of communicative and cultural memory. On
the other hand, what is called cultural memory, which is fixed with 'fateful
events', cannot always survive longer than it is needed and used by the groups
who practise it. Due to needs that appear in the present, groups tend to
reconstruct the past (not only communicative memory, but also cultural) and
invent new traditions (fateful events). This means that there exists a two-fold
relation between communicative and cultural memory, where each of them plays
an active role in the construction of the other. Therefore, neither communicative
nor cultural memories are superior to the other, but they are active parts of
collective memory which use different tools.

42
2. 5 Memories in practice

To further the discussion of the questions raised above, at this point a shift from
concepts to the practices of memory seems essential. Practices such as
commemorations, rituals and the tools of these practices museums,
monuments, myths, symbols and the places of memory are hence subjects of
this part of my study. While Welzer and Hirsch analyzed how memory is
transmitted across generations in the family, memories of groups (on a local,
national, or global scale) are practised and transmitted and with more and more
various tools in the contemporary era of high-technology among other groups
and generations. Rituals using myths and symbols rooted in the past are
institutionalized practices of constructing, strengthening/legitimizing, and finally
transferring, collective memory. Durkheim, in his masterpiece The Elementary
form of the Religious Life (1912), and following him Halbwachs, in his book
The Legendary Topography of the Gospels in the Holy Land (1941), emphasise
the importance of rituals and symbols in the myths in which the religious believe.
As Durkheim argues, it is most probably in religious activity that we are most
easily able to observe the functions of the rites and the elements which construct
myths.
Other studies which specifically focus on practices of memory in
states/nations focus on questions such as how nations create a sense of
nationhood and a national identity, or how states legitimize their existence by
constructing a continuation of a common past, either of suffering or success. 7
How are symbols (for instance flags, heroic figures), national ceremonies,
monuments, museums and archives used as tools to construct a common
perception towards the past, a national identity, so to say, and how are they
modified in order to meet the changing needs of societies?
At the centre of recent memory studies dealing with the practices of
collective memory, commemorations, ceremonies and rituals has mostly been the
question of remembering traumatic past events. Paul Connerton (1989) focuses
on the Nazi past for his work on commemorations, rites, and myths. As
discussed earlier in this chapter on Hobsbawms approach to the invention of
traditions as a way of legitimizing present existences, power relations and orders
in social life, Connerton shows how the National Socialist regime used old
Christian myths while inventing new ceremonies which are based on pagan
components (Connerton 1989: 43). He refers to this set of events and ceremonies
as the phenomenon of ritual action, which he considers not only formal action
that has expressive purposes, but also a practice of meaning making and

7 See for example Hobsbawm's Invention of Tradition as discussed in the previous part of this
chapter, and Benedict Anderson's Imagined Communities.
43
internalizing. Rites have the capacity to give value and meaning to the life of
those who perform them (Connerton 1989: 45). By practising ritual behaviour,
members of groups show their loyalty to the group and strengthen the idea of
we. The meanings of the ritual act which are embodied and transferred in and
by symbolic texts, images and figures are usually perceived and practised
without questioning, but this does not mean that their existence is generated from
some kind of abstract spiritual phenomenon (although they often appear to be),
but from the material conditions of the present and the concrete needs of groups.
As Connerton suggests, instead of seeking to understand the 'hidden' point that
lies 'behind' ritual symbolism (1989: 53) we can focus on how myths and rituals
are formalized and performed, on the ways they are effective in transmitting
values, notions, ideas and, in general, social memory.
Similarly, commemorative ceremonies are practices of constructing the past
who/what to remember, how to remember. They are acts of collective
remembering which in turn fill the gaps in individual recollections, emphasize
some of the names, places and events (i.e. ideas, notions and values) positively
or negatively and underestimate or exclude 'others'. Commemorations are tools
for making sense of history and constructing an agreed past. This does not mean
that ceremonies like commemorations are 'evils' which impose their own 'hidden
agenda' on the participants; rather, individuals themselves may be in need of
remembering collectively, mourning together, crying for the same person, trying
to recollect from what others remember, and so on. If there is a kind of sorrow in
remembering a painful past, there is definitely something 'healing' in
commemorating. The commemoration does the memory work for us (Gook
2011: 17). If what is commemorated is not a painful past but something to enjoy,
then it is even more enjoyable when commemorated with others like oneself. The
commemorating individual is no longer the active agent of the practice of
remembering, but becomes the passive subject of collective memory work.
Regarding his participation in the commemoration of the 20 th Anniversary
of the Fall of the Berlin Wall, Ben Gook discusses how ideologies function
through feelings:

The Festival of Freedom in 2009 was above all a commemoration that reminded us that
ideology is always suffused with affect (Cash, 1996: 67). Ideologies are informed, shaped and
animated by emotion. [] emotion is best understood as a constitutive part of ideological
identification. Rational interests may play a role in why subjects identify with a certain
ideology, but affect is equally important: 'subjects invest psychic energy in the object world
and in the characteristics of the self that the ideology has constructed' (Cash, 1996: 71-2). We
might also characterize this as the way structures of feelings are central to the functioning of
ideologies (2011: 16).

Commemorative practices provide recall of a past which is not experienced, or

remembrance of a person who was never known in person, and thus strengthen
the solidarity among members of a group. It is memory in practice, remembering
44
with other members of the we group; in short, generating, strengthening and
polishing the collective identity. The remnants of experience still live in the
warmth of custom, in the repetition of the ancestral (Nora 1989: 7).
Commemoration and rituals are the medium which carries history/tradition into
the present, it is the 'place' where individuals can participate in it (even
passively), whereas with other memory devices (museums, photos, biography
books etc.) individuals remain audiences, observers or visitors.

2. 6 Modernity and forgetting

We speak so much of memory because there is so little of it left.

Pierre Nora (1989: 7)

Considering the recent growing interest in past times in the social sciences, in
literature and in popular culture, we can assume that our age is the age of
memory. With the help of technological tools, we are now able to record and
store much more than any history books could do for us. Pierre Nora argues that
modern memory is archival and relies entirely on the materiality of the trace,
the immediacy of the recording, the visibility of the image (1989: 13). The more
we (moderns) have anxiety and fear about the present and the future, the more
we want to preserve and archive the past. He writes:

No society has ever produced archives as deliberately as our own, not only by volume, not only
by new technical means of reproduction and preservation, but also by its superstitious esteem,
by its veneration of the trace. Even as traditional memory disappears, we feel obliged
assiduously to collect remains, testimonies, documents, images, speeches, any visible signs of
what has been, as if this burgeoning dossier were to be called upon to furnish some proof to
who knows what tribunal of history (1989: 13-14).

This kind of memory, archival memory as Nora terms it, is generated by a shift
from historical consciousness to social consciousness. This has also changed the
character of public institutional archives, which used to rely on 'official'
documents, but since the arrival of the age of archival memory they have started
to depend more on private documents, family archives, even diaries and photo
albums. Moreover, this shift from historical to social consciousness makes the
role of professional historians insignificant and the society itself more explicit in
public memory. (Schwarz 2010: 46-47).8 Schwarz argues that there are two
reasons for the change from historical consciousness to social consciousness:
acceleration and globalization. Furthermore, the mass media has had the effect of
demolishing the hegemony of historians, whereas the fixers of the past for the

8 Nora 1993c: 15 quoted in Schwarz, Bill (2010) Memory, Temporality, Modernity: Les lieux de
memoire. In Radstone et. al. (2010): 41-61.
45
present are journalists. Collective consciousness is not under the authority of
historians (anymore) but mass media (Schwarz 2010: 44).
Similar to Noras argument about modern society's tendency to archive and
the shift from historical documents to personal memory products (biographies,
diaries, and family photos) Andreas Huyssen (2003) highlights the media's role
in modifying and controlling public memory, or even causing oblivion. The
interest shown toward the past in modern times is called the memory boom by
Huyssen, and he further explains it as follows:
Since the 1970s in Europe and the United States we have the historicizing restoration of old
urban centers, whole museum villages and landscapes, various national heritage and patrimony
enterprises, the wave of new museum architecture that shows no signs of receding, the boom in
retro fashions and repro furniture, the mass-marketing of nostalgia, the obsessive self-
musealization per video recorder, memoir writing, and confessional literature, the rise of
autobiography and of the postmodern historical novel with its uneasy negotiation between fact
and fiction, the spread of memory practices in the visual arts often centered on the medium of
photography, and the increase of historical documentaries on television, including (in the
United States) a channel dedicated entirely to history, the History Channel (Huyssen 2003: 14).

For Huyssen, memory is no longer a phenomenon, as it is seen by Halbwachs,

nor can it be an alternative way of remembering the past by challenging history,
but it is turned into a product which is marketed and consumed, for which
collective memory approaches are not adequate to grasp the current dynamic of
media and temporality, memory, lived time, and forgetting (Huyssen 2003: 17).
In the age of the 'memory boom' (with the help of technological innovations that
enable more storage, such as CDs, external memory tools, etc.) and
'musealization', individuals consume fabricated or imagined memories, which
are more easily forgettable than lived memories (Huyssen 2003: 17).
Forgetting is not the opposite of remembering; rather, they exist within each
other. The dialectical relation between memory and forgetting is well
demonstrated by Freud (1925: 207-212) with his metaphor of the mystic writing
pad. A mystic writing pad consists of dark brown wax and a transparent sheet
which has two layers, celluloid and 'thin translucent waxed paper' (Freud 1925:
209). For him, the upper piece, which is transparent and can be rewritten on
many times, is like our way of perceiving things, whereas the wax part functions
like our memories. It is more or less like taking notes of the things that we do not
want to forget on a piece of paper, but after a while, when these memories are no
longer needed, the paper is cleaned to be re-used. Nevertheless, the marks of
what was previously written remain on the wax tablet.
If we adapt Freud's simile of the mystic pad to collective memory research,
this dialectical relation between memory and forgetting, not as opposites of each
other but as different levels of the remembering process, leads us to ask
questions about the politics of memory. How does the mystic pad function in
terms of collective memory? Who is writing on the transparent sheet (power

46
relations; state, media, military, perpetrators)? What remains on the wax tablet
(memories of the victims, witnesses, the oppressed)? How should it be re-written
(confronting the past)?
For Richard Sennett, the modern economy has turned memory into a
property, it encourages such feelings about memory as private property. []
People do not remember well because the modern economy does not encourage
it (1998: 25). Here, he is referring to Halbwachs theory that memory is
constructed within society, that due to detachment from groups, individuals start
to forget the past they shared with a specific group. Sennett argues that, due to
the way the modern economy is organized, it is no longer possible to remember
socially, within the group. What makes the process of recall active is the
continuity of the narration; what is missing in the modern economy is a plurality
of the narrators, a plurality of contending voices speaking to one another
(Sennett 1998: 14). His arguments are based on his observations of computer
programmers who became unemployed but still accepted their imminent
redundancy with resignation rather than anger (Sennett 1998: 24). Sennett's
focus is on the function of memory of supporting or destroying class
consciousness. In his analysis, of something that appears to be common in
modern capitalist economies, the prior function of memory remembering as
supportive activity for class consciousness requires reopening wounds in a
particular way which people cannot do by themselves (Sennett 1998: 24). He
asks why in such experiences of unemployment those conflictual relations are
not taking form, why collective memory of shared injury can become a detour
rather than a confrontation with capitalism's current pains (1998: 23). The
prominent characteristic of modern society is its 'individualizing' power, together
with instability, uncertainty and insecurity, which damage group solidarity, the
common sense of the past.
According to Benjamin, modernity not only disturbs memories through
individualization, but also as a result of temporality we lose our ties with the
past, since with modernity we have moved from wisdom and knowledge to the
age of information. In the age of information, what is missing is the 'storyteller'
who experienced the stories told himself, or who has heard the story from those
who experienced.

Every morning brings us the news of the globe, and yet we are poor in noteworthy stories. This
is because no event any longer comes to us without already being shot through with
explanation. In other words, by now almost nothing that happens benefits storytelling; almost
everything benefits information (Benjamin [1936] 1968: 4).

Belonging to a group and practising memory together with other group members
are essential elements of collective memory in Halbwachs' theory as well. As
Sennett shows the disturbing effects of individualization in modern capitalist

47
societies, Halbwachs considers that separation from a group would weaken
memory, and moreover would lead to forgetting (Halbwachs 1980: 24-30).
2. 7 Trauma theories of memory

Trauma is a term often found in studies of memory, both in those which focus on
the memories of traumatized witnesses/survivors and those that are more
interested in the effects of a traumatized past on collective identities. However,
questions regarding trauma how trauma affects memory, how traumatized
individuals tend to reconstruct their memories of the past (whether they choose
silence or to talk about it), what the disturbing effects of a traumatic past are in
the present lives of individuals/groups, whether trauma is something that exists
'naturally' or is socially constructed can only be discussed after reflecting on
what trauma actually is. How should we collective memory scholars use this
blurry term in relation to remembering the past?
Trauma means wound or damage in Greek, originally referring to an injury
inflicted on a body (Caruth 1996: 16). In medicine, the term is still commonly
used with its first meaning referring to damage to the body. However, with the
works of Freud and Breuer on hysteria at the end of 19 th century, the concept of
trauma shifted from bodily wound or damage to a psychological wound in the
mind (Caruth 1996; Smelser 2004). In this sense, trauma is defined as a sudden
shock which destroys the psyche, and/or leaves marks on it. This basic definition
of trauma is obviously very general. Historical catastrophes of the 20th century
(World War I, the Vietnam War, the Holocaust, and more recently the Iraq War,
the September 11 attacks, the Kosovo War and many others that are unknown to
the Western World) have left many people with various physical and
psychological 'wounds' which could not be defined by the general meaning of the
term trauma. The new category of post-traumatic stress disorder emerged in 1980
to define the diagnoses of Vietnam War veterans. Caruth writes that the term
post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was conceptualized by the American
Psychiatric Association as a phenomenon which includes the symptoms of what
had previously been called shell shock, combat stress, delayed stress syndrome,
and traumatic neurosis, and referred to responses to both human and natural
catastrophes (Caruth 1995: 3). This wide definition of the term PTSD, Caruth
holds, led to other 'diagnoses of some dissociative disorders' such as rape, child
abuse, [and] other violent occurrences to be understood in terms of PTSD
(Caruth 1995: 3). Caruth argues that the definition of the American Psychiatric
Association also opens a new discussion by relating trauma to specific kinds of
events, from where she moves further to a discussion of understanding trauma as
historical experience. Referring to Freud's description of traumatic neurosis as
having the characteristic of continual repetition (in dreams and hallucinations)
and being able to be healed only when the traumatic event can come into
memory and be literally expressed, she discusses whether it is the event itself

48
which wounds the psyche or the memory of the event. Expressing a traumatic
experience literally means that it is presented in a context which is constructed
socially. Her emphasis is on the historical experience of trauma, which has its
roots in Freud's analysis. As Smelser (2004: 34) writes, a trauma is not a thing
in itself but becomes a thing by virtue of the context in which it is implanted.
This emphasis has evoked new ways of thinking about cultural trauma
(Alexander 2004: 6). Mitchell (1998) refers to the concepts used by Freud with
regard to trauma of 'Nachtrglich' and 'Nachtrglichkit' which mean
'afterwardness'. She writes [m]emory comes into being only after the trace
which marks it: there is no thing, no event, experience, feeling, to remember,
there is only that present which an empty past brings into being (Mitchell 1998:
99). Similar to the emphasis made by Freud and Caruth in the context of trauma
(it is not the experience itself that produces traumatic effect, but rather the
remembrance of it (Eyerman 2004: 62)), cultural trauma is more involved in the
phase of its being remembered than in the subjective experiencing phase of the
event. Moreover, remembering trauma is at the level of constructing it. Jeffrey
Alexander, carries the discussion a few steps further and writes explicitly [f]or
trauma is not something naturally existing; it is something constructed by
society (2004: 2).
The concept of cultural trauma shifts the focus of trauma from the event and
the experience of it by individuals to its characteristic of being a socially
constructed phenomenon. Olick emphasizes that trauma is not limited to the
event which is traumatic, nor to individuals who have experienced that traumatic
past. He writes:

[...] Vietnam was traumatic not just for American individuals (to say nothing of Vietnamese
individuals), but for the legitimating narrative that we as individuals produce for us as a
collectivity. In this way, for instance, the trauma of Auschwitz will not disappear with the
death of the last survivor; nor is it carried only through those mainly their children who
suffered its personal ripple effects (Olick 1999a: 345).

Rather than sudden shocks, pains or violent acts which each member of a group
experiences, the concept of cultural trauma suggests paying attention to how
such events affect the consciousness of groups, how groups reconstruct their
identities together with the marks of a shocking painful violent experience at a
macro level of social structures. Furthermore, it is the meanings that provide the
sense of shock and fear, not the events in themselves (Alexander 2004: 10).
Contrary to the naturalistic fallacy of Lay Trauma Theories,9 which puts the
emphasis on the occurrence of events, Alexander argues that the events do not,

9 Alexander states that the lay trauma theory suggests that traumas are naturally occurring events
that shatter an individual or collective actor's sense of well-being. In other words, the power to shatter
the trauma is thought to emerge from events themselves (Alexander 2004: 2). He further
distinguishes two versions of lay trauma theory, namely enlightenment and psychoanalytic. The
49
in and of themselves, create collective trauma. Events are not inherently
traumatic. Trauma is a socially mediated attribution (Alexander 2004: 8). He
holds that both lay trauma theories, enlightenment thinking and psychoanalytic
thinking, share the naturalistic fallacy of the lay understanding from which they
derive (Alexander 2004: 8). With the definition of trauma as 'socially mediated'
and 'socially constructed', Alexander argues that cultural sociologists are getting
involved in epistemology rather than ontology or morality. He writes:

Yet, while every argument about trauma claims ontological reality, as cultural sociologists we
are not primarily concerned with the accuracy of social actors' claims, much less with
evaluating their moral justification. We are concerned only with how and under what
conditions the claims are made, and with what results (Alexander 2004: 9).

The concept of cultural trauma, when considered with its links to collective
identity and its social character, shares common features with the concept of
collective memory, such as:
- Trauma does not exist naturally, but is produced through meaning-making
procedures in a historically existing context: cultural traumas are for the most
part historically made, not born (Smelser 2004: 37);
- Cultural trauma destroys, or reshapes 'we' and plays a crucial role in the
reconstruction of collective identity;
- Cultural trauma is not a static thing fixed in the specific time and place of
the traumatic event; rather, it is a dynamic process depending on changing social
frameworks, and the traumatized group's position. The meaning of the trauma,
and the ways of confronting it will necessarily show differences depending on
changing sociocultural contexts. In Halbwachs' terms, norms, values and ideas
that are constructed historically within social frameworks would define whether
we as members of groups consider an event (more or less) traumatic or not.

2. 8 Postmemory: transmission of memory from generation to generation

How the past is narrated and transferred from generation to generation is

obviously a methodological issue for the present study, and I will elaborate on
this when I explain my methods of interviewing and interpreting. However, I
would like to briefly discuss the term postmemory and its main characteristics.
It is used in studies dealing with the re-narration of the past of the Holocaust, and

former requires a recognition of trauma at the rational level which triggers off a change: [t]rauma is
considered as a kind of rational response to abrupt change, whether at the individual or social level
(2004: 3), whereas the latter focuses on unconscious perceptions of the effects of a traumatic event:
Rather than activating direct cognition and rational understanding, the traumatizing event becomes
distorted in the actor's imagination and memory (2004: 5).
50
particularly with the transferring of memory among family members from
generation to generation.
The term is conceptualized by Marianna Hirsch, as a result of her interest in
the transmission of Holocaust memories among family members, but this time
the narratives focused on are generated from the memories of the survivors. She
argues that members of the second generation, whose parents had to experience a
traumatic past, re-remember those events, although they themselves have not
experienced them, since those experiences [] preceded their births but []
were nevertheless transmitted to them so deeply as to seem to constitute
memories in their own right (Hirsch 2008: 103). This kind of 'parental past' is
therefore often identified by second generation authors, and various definitions
have been proposed in regard to this borrowed memory. Hirsch writes:
The particular relation to a parental past described, evoked, and analyzed in these works has
come to be seen as a syndrome of belatedness or post-ness and has been variously termed
absent memory (Fine 1988), inherited memory, belated memory, prosthetic memory
(Lury 1998, Landsberg 2004), mmoire troue (Raczymow 1994), mmoire des cendres
(Fresco 1984), vicarious witnessing (Zeitlin 1998), received history (Young 1997), and
postmemory. These terms reveal a number of controversial assumptions: that descendants of
survivors (of victims as well as of perpetrators) of massive traumatic events connect so deeply
to the previous generation's remembrances of the past that they need to call that connection
memory and thus that, in certain extreme circumstances, memory can be transmitted to those
who were not actually there to live an event (2008: 105-106).

Hirsch considers that it is necessary to name this second-generation

remembrance with a new term, since it has a character distinct to the memories
of the first generation that experienced the traumatic past directly. Postmemory is
a transmitted memory which is imagined, perceived and internalized in the
memories of the later generation. It describes the relationship that the
generation after those who witnessed cultural or collective trauma bears to the
experiences of those who came before, experiences that they remember only
by means of the stories, images, and behaviours among which they grew up
(2008: 106). She comes to the concept of postmemory after her analysis of Art
Spiegelman's Maus (1991), which is a best-selling graphic novel about the life
story of Spiegelman's father, a Holocaust survivor. Hirsch is interested in how
Spiegelman re-narrates the traumatic past experiences of his father, how he
creates that memory which he did not experience himself in his own imagination,
and the role of images in transmitting memory, especially the power of
photographs.
The term is now quite often used in memory studies, not only studies about
the Holocaust, but also, as Hirsch assumed, it is used in studies of memories of
traumatic past events and their transmission across the generations. There are
also many questions which have been generated concerning Hirsch's concept of
postmemory as remembering a non-experienced past. Sarlo argues that it is not
possible for subjects to remember the experiences of others (their parents) as
51
their own experiences. These kinds of experiences are only possible as a result of
memories constructed by groups, such as through education, politics or the
family (Sarlo 2012: 80). Experience, for Sarlo, cannot be re-experienced, but
only re-narrated by others, and therefore there is no need for a new term to
describe second generation memories. In this sense, what plays a crucial role in
the memory of a traumatic past is subjectivity, by means of which that memory
is transmitted and re-constructed by a journalist, a witness, a soldier or a family
member. It is particularly interesting how a story of the past is reconstructed by
members of a group who have not experienced the events themselves.
Obviously, as argued before, reconstruction of the past is not dependent on
recent benefits to groups. Therefore, subjects who lack the experience of the past
being remembered tend to interpret the past according to their relations to
survivors/witnesses/perpetrators who experienced the event (which could be
emotional, rational, or strategic.)
Similar to postmemory studies, Harald Welzer in his research about
remembering and generational differences in the memory of the Holocaust,
describes how social memory is reconstructed among the members of the family.
Welzer argues that, although education in Germany efficiently covers all aspects
of the historical events during the WWII and students are well educated about
the crimes of the Nazi Regime, this does not necessarily mean that students
interpretation of the past is similar to what they are taught at schools. In their
project Transmitting Historical Awareness, through the analysis of 182
interviews with members of 40 Western and Eastern German families, Welzer
and his team try to understand how the Nazi Period is being transmitted through
the generations and how it is being narrated in family communications in terms
of Assmann's theory of memory, how the Nazi past is being narrated in the
communicative memory of the family members. The results of the study show
that there is a strong tendency for the younger generations to distance their
grandparents from being involved or taking part, or even from directly being the
perpetrators when this has been confessed by the grandparents themselves. 10
Sarlo argues that, similar to parents looking at a photo of their missing child
in a period of dictatorship, a historian examines the newspapers. The difference
between these two acts is not that it is an activity named post, but the problem

10 Welzer highlights what he terms cumulative heroization, a process of healing the past from one
generation to the next which appeared in twenty-six of the forty family interviews. Children of the
first generation re-narrate their parents' stories, as they did not actively take part in Nazi crimes and
sometimes even tried to help the Jews, whereas the grandchildren narrate them more in favour of
their grandparents and try to make a good story out of it. The other strategy that emerged from
Wezlers research is victimization, which appears in half of the interviews conducted, thus two-
thirds of all the stories were about family members from the eyewitness generation (or their relatives)
who were either victims of the Nazi past and/or heroes of everyday resistance. Grandpa wasn't a
Nazi: The Holocaust in German Family Remembrance 2005: 1.

52
of subjectivity. This is what makes second generation narratives special: the
effect of subjectivity in re-narrating the memories of first generations A second
characteristic of postmemory, Hirsch argues, is that it is a memory which
contains many gaps, instead of providing a pure sense of continuity in narration.
However, Sarlo asks if we need to use a new term to define this process of re-
narrating parents experiences by the second generation, which is a memory
constructed with marks of subjectivity. Since every one of these reconstructions
of the past necessarily has gaps and is subject to the subjective interpretations of
the remembering subjects, this is what makes postmemory different. Another
question would be how different the reconstructions of the past among the
members of the second generation are depending on their parents' roles in the
traumatic event as perpetrators or survivors (objects or subjects). Considering the
relation between experience and memory, another question emerges: that of how
the postmemory of the second generation is affected by their own present
experiences in recent social milieus.
In the process of making sense of the past, of a traumatic past containing
genocides and massacres, the way that perpetrators and victims deal
with/confront this past, and the way that the process of meaning-making takes
place is realized through conversations with family members from different
generations. Given that each memory is a viewpoint on the collective memory,
that this viewpoint changes as my position changes, that this position itself
changes as my relationships to other milieus change (Halbwachs 1980: 48), then
how would members of a new generation reconstruct the past told by their
grandparents? Gabriele Rosenthal emphasizes different interpretations of the
same past when presenting findings regarding 'Russian Germans' who migrated
or wanted to migrate to Germany from the former Soviet Union after the 1980s.
In order to prove their ethnicity, migrants documented the involvement of older
family members in the Nazi Party or in the SS. 11 This research shows how
collective memory is by its nature multiple and is reconstructed according to
present conditions defined by social frameworks.
Trauma does not need to be experienced by every member of the group for
the construction of We; members adopt a traumatic past as part of their
collective identity out of solidarity. A threat to a group's consciousness, its
identity and existence also reinforces the attachment of its members to that
traumatic event. Cultural traumas not only strengthen the solidarity of the group
but they can also be a part of the politics of legitimizing a groups' recent position
or future aims. Diasporas, for example, keep their attachment to the trauma
narrated by their ancestors even for many generations, first as the reason which
originally constructed their group identity as a 'diaspora', and second as a matter

11 Gabriele Rosenthal, On the interdependence of collective memory and individual remembering.

The homogenization of collective and familial pasts in the Soviet Union presented at University of
Erlangen. 10. December 2010.
53
of historical continuity (with previous generations, and with the 'heimat'). As
discussed earlier regarding collective memory, memories of traumas have
historical roots and are transferred to succeeding generations. Religious and
national trauma narratives are good examples of these kinds of memories, which
generations even thousands of years later consider to be part of their existence as
We. Alexander states that Benedict Anderson made a similar argument in
Imagined Communities (Anderson 1991) with the emphasis on the ideology of
nationalism, whereas his emphasis is more on the representation of trauma. He
writes:

It is not that traumas are never constructed from nonexistent events. Certainly they are. []
Our approach to the idea of imagined is more like what Durkheim meant in The Elementary
Forms of Religious Life when he wrote of the religious imagination. Imagination is intrinsic
to the very process of representation. It seizes upon an inchoate experience from life, and forms
it, through association, condensation, and aesthetic creation, into some specific shape
(Alexander 2004: 9).

It is perhaps this Durkheiman approach to cultural trauma that best corresponds

to Halbwachs collective memory approach. The imagination is constructed in
the collective memory of groups; it is narrated, and transferred through the tools
of memory. Not every memory is necessarily traumatic, but every cultural
trauma exists, is reconstructed, and transferred within collective memory.

54
3. Methodology

This chapter focuses on the qualitative methods used in this research and the
interpretation of the biographical narrative interviews. Through a discussion of
the methods of data gathering (participant observation and biographical narrative
interviewing) and data analysis (biographical case reconstruction), I show why
the techniques used in this research are particularly suitable for research in
memory studies. Therefore, the chapter addresses two main topics: the matter of
practice how these methods are used in this study; and second, theoretical
debates over approaches to the biographical narrative interview method,
interpretation of data, and the relevance of the method to the theory of collective
memory. The following section, therefore, focuses on issues in participant
observation, such as strategies for entering the field, building trust, conducting
expert interviews, and using secondary sources. Later, the theoretical background
to biographical research, deciding on sampling, conducting biographical
narrative interviews, and analyzing the interview material will be discussed in
relation to the theory of collective memory.

3. 1 Participant observation

As argued in the previous chapter, the individuals memory is constructed within

society. Each member of society learns to think, speak, feel and act, as well as to
remember, through concepts and notions which are the results of historical
processes. According to Durkheim (1982 [1895]: 52) manners of acting,
thinking and feeling external to the individual which are imposed on him and
exercise control over him generate the characteristics of social fact. Hence,
memory as a social fact is the product of collective beliefs, thoughts and
practices, and cannot be understood solely from individual narratives. It is
essential to understand the whole, the role of the social frameworks and
structures which re-construct the collective consciousness of groups, in order to
understand the social embedded in the individual.
In order to understand how the collective memory of 12 September is
reconstructed and practised by the revolutionaries, I used the ethnographic
participant observation method. My main concern in using the method of
participant observation was to analyze the characteristics of the collective
memory of 12 September by focusing on collective practices and representations.
The second crucial point was the question of how individual memory is
embedded in the collective, and in turn how collectively shared perspectives
55

E. Karacan, Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military Coup dtat,

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9_3, Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
construct the individual memory of the past. Although depending on their
relations with other groups individuals may have different perspectives than that
imposed by the group of which they are members, as long as it does not destroy
the collective thought, or does not conflict with it, individuals should continue to
think and act within what are imposed or voluntarily chosen collective
practices. With the terms imposed and chosen I refer to the notion of ideology
as used in classical Marxism, which is formulated as they dont know it, but
nonetheless they are doing it or, as Zizek puts it, in our contemporary world
ideology is now formulated as they know it, but they are doing it.
A similarity between Halbwachs theory of collective memory and the
Althusserian approach to ideology has been shown in the previous chapter. From
the methodological point of view, it is worth emphasizing once again how the
collective is considered in this study. It is based on Durkheims definition: it is
a condition of the group repeated in individuals because it imposes itself upon
them. It is in each part because it is in the whole, but far from being in the whole
because it is in the parts (Durkheim 1982: 56). Thus, each revolutionarys
memory of 12 September constructed in the biographical narrative interviews is
a reflection of what is imposed by the whole (revolutionary movement and its
traditions). It was therefore crucial for my research to understand the whole, the
reconstruction of the collective consciousness, the process of collective practices
and representations. I am aware of the fact that what I consider the whole,
which is defined as the revolutionary groups, is also a part of other wholes.
Limiting my research to the observation of mnemonic tools and mnemonic
practices, however, does not mean excluding the effect of other State
Apparatuses on the collective memory of the revolutionaries. The following
chapter (Chapter 4) on the historical background to 12 September aims to fill this
gap with a discussion of the economic, political and cultural basis and results of
the coup, both at the national and the global levels.

3. 1. 1 Entering the field

In a comparative research study like this, the very first question regards the limits
of the field. The problem is not only related to the size of the field but also to its
content. Which groups, which mnemonic practices, which mnemonic tools need
to be observed? Which activities would provide me with findings that present the
whole? As will be shown in Chapter 4, the left-wing movement in Turkey had
multiple and diverse structures. This continues in the present and is also reflected
in transnational politics. Therefore, every decision to limit observations to the
activities of certain organizations would result in the exclusion of tens of others.
To overcome the problem of obtaining a sample which would represent the
whole, I decided to participate in the activities of the groups with whose

56
members the interviews were conducted. In doing so, I was able to not only
observe the general characteristics of commemorative practices, but was also
able to understand the biographical narratives as parts of a whole.
A second problem concerning sampling regarded the sort of activities: what
kind of activities structure/restructure the collective memory of 12 September?
Which kind of activities should be considered commemorative activities? There
are basically two types of activities where the past of 12 September is the main
subject. The first type are panels, conferences, political party meetings, protests
etc. where 12 September is discussed with its political, economic, legal and
historical roots and results at a national and international level. The discussion at
these kinds of events is more abstract, and the revolutionaries, their roles and
experiences are not considered the main subject, but rather a sub-topic among
many others. The second type of activity consists of testimonials, stories by
witnesses, and anniversaries of massacres and executions. Here, the experiences
of the revolutionaries are essential. The study focused on the second type of
activity. Nevertheless, knowing the importance of the first type for the
reconstruction of the past, I also participated in those when possible.

3. 1. 2 Field research in practice

Having decided on the sampling and defined the limits of the field, between 2009
and 2013 I participated in commemoration events, ceremonies, meetings,
demonstrations, and also other collective activities which my interview partners
were participating in or organizing, such as literature days, conferences, reading
groups and family visits in Germany and Turkey. The processes of interviewing
and participant observation took place simultaneously. After establishing first
contacts with some members of associations in Turkey and in Germany, I was
introduced to potential interviewees and invited to events they organized. These
organizations were the Federation of Democratic Workers' Associations
(Fderation Demokratischer Arbeitervereine DIDF) and the Human Rights
Organization Turkey/Germany (Menschenrechtsverein Trkei/Deutschland
TDAY) in Germany, and the Federation of Revolutionary 78s (Devrimci
78'liler Federasyonu), the Human Rights Organization (nsan Haklar Dernei
HD) in Turkey. The Labour Party (Emek Partisi EMEP) also provided me with
first contacts for interviews.
Starting at the end of 2009, I actively participated in the activities of the
above organizations in Germany and Turkey. During my participation in these
activities, as suggested by my supervisor Prof. Schittenhelm, I took detailed field
notes about the prominent discourses, characteristics, symbols and settings of the
commemorations, and also about what was left behind, what was underestimated
or not mentioned in comparison with the interviews conducted. In some cases,

57
with the permission of the organizers, I recorded speeches. It was also possible to
obtain copies of videos of some of the events.
Due to the personal contacts I developed with the members of these
organizations, most of the time I was not treated as a researcher, and especially
not as an outsider, but as someone from the family. In some cases I was even
asked to contribute to activities by doing organizational work, or was asked to
make a presentation. Therefore, the problem of the presence of the researcher
(Stanley and Wise 1993), or, as some authors put it, of a stranger (Sanger 1996),
which would affect naturally existing social settings and practices, was not an
issue in my research. During my participation in commemorative practices this
problem was not experienced, and particularly not in meetings that were publicly
announced. However, the question of interaction between the researcher and the
research subject was an issue in conducting the biographical interviews. This will
be elaborated on in the following section.
I had only limited time for participating in 12 September activities in
Turkey after 2009. Before I started my PhD in Germany, I had been in touch with
human rights organizations and other NGOs in Turkey, as well as political
groups. Nevertheless, I did not observe my own life and that of the members of
my family or my friends who were active in these organizations from a scientific
perspective. Therefore I was able to analyze only a limited number of
commemorations and meetings in Turkey compared to Germany. Nevertheless, I
tried to fill the gap by using secondary sources, such as online visual materials of
commemorations, mourning rituals and testimonials, documentary films,
biographical books, and interviews with witnesses and perpetrators.

3. 1. 3 Secondary sources

In addition to biographical narrative interviews and participant observation, as

mentioned, I used secondary sources such as autobiographical books, films, and
documentaries. There is a growing interest among the revolutionaries in
authoring their life stories both in Germany and in Turkey. In addition, in the last
decade publishers have welcomed oral history books, especially ones focused on
one phase in the past of 12 September, choosing a specific theme or group. Some
of my interview partners had authored autobiographies, memoirs and newspaper
articles and have been interviewed for edited books and documentaries.
Furthermore, the documentaries made by organizations such as the
Revolutionary 78s Federation, Dostluk ve Yardmlama Vakf, and professional
organisations such as the Ankara Bar Association and the Chamber of Turkish
Engineers and Architects (TMMOB) have been used as secondary sources. Some
of the documentaries were based on interviews made with the perpetrators (12
Eyll, produced by Mehmet Ali Birand, 1998; 12 Eyll/Sol, by Yaar Takn

58
Ko) and some were only based on the stories of 'victims' and witnesses
(Olunuz Erdal, 2010, by Tevfik Ta; 5 Nolu, 2009, by ayan Demirel; 17'nin
tesi: Erdal Eren davas, 2010, by Memik Horuz). These documentaries,
memoirs, and other edited books also provided the knowledge and experience of
people who are not the subject of this study (i.e. perpetrators) or of those who it
was not convenient to interview (i.e. politicians, generals in the junta,
industrialists). Besides the documentaries, I also used reports, posters, leaflets
and digital sources such as CDs that were produced and distributed by trade
unions, political parties and civil rights organizations.

3. 1. 4 Expert interviews

The past of 12 September, means a history of violations of human rights and

breaches of human rights conventions. At the commemorative events, as well as
in the biographical narrative interviews, judicial issues are, therefore, often
mentioned. The subject gained more importance soon after the public
referendum held in 2010, and particularly during the trial of two junta members
which started on 4 April 2012.
For a better understanding of the discussions at commemorative events, I
needed to interview experts about violations of human rights, the 1982
constitution, and judicial developments regarding the 12 September cases. My
interviews with experts also focused on issues of confrontation involved in the
case of the two junta generals. I conducted semi-structured interviews with four
experts. In April 2011, I interviewed Hsn ndl, a well-known lawyer who
was in charge of defending revolutionaries during the junta regime in the 1980s,
and later took an active role in the field of human rights. The interview, which
lasted more than an hour, was held in Ankara in a small conference room at the
Human Rights Organization. This interview covered the following topics:

- Legal acts and regulations regarding political crimes before the coup;
- Changes appearing after the declaration of martial law;
- Observations about torture centres and military prisons (DAL, Mamak Military
Prison, the Military Prison in Adana, Diyarbakir Military Prison);
- Human rights abuses during the junta regime;
- The content and structure of the 1982 Constitution;
-The struggle of victims and survivors.

Another expert interview was conducted in Germany with Yavuz Yldrmtrk,

one of the founding members of the Marxist revolutionary organization THKO
(Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Ordusu People's Liberation Army of Turkey). The
interview was held at the office of the DDF (Demokratik i Dernekleri

59
Federasyonu Federation of Democratic Workers Organizations) in Cologne, on
6 April 2011 and lasted about an hour. Yldrmtrk talked about the historical
background of the revolutionary organizations and his involvement in the
movement. Since he is one of the well-known figures of the 68 movement, it was
important for me to interview him in order to deepen my understanding of the
historical and ideological roots of the following generation, namely the 78
generation, which is the subject of my research. Although the interview was quite
informative about the revolutionary movement in Turkey, Yldrmtrk refused to
answer questions regarding his experiences and his life story, wanting to limit the
interview to the political and social events of the 70s.
After the first case of the two junta generals was opened in Ankara on 4
April 2012, I conducted two more expert interviews in Turkey; one with a
member of the Revolutionary 78s Federation in Ankara, and the other with the
coordinator of the Human Rights Organization (HD) in Istanbul. The main
topics of the interviews were:

- General thoughts about the case, and the court members positions;
- The facilities of the political parties, chambers and civil rights organizations
regarding the case;
- The demands of the 78s Federation/HD to confront the past of 12 September;
- Activities taking place before/during/after the trials of the junta members.

Although I aimed to include the perspectives of various revolutionary groups

such as the Initiative of the 78s Organization in Istanbul (78liler Vakf Giriimi)
and the Ankara Bar Association, it was not possible to arrange an appointment.
Nevertheless, I benefited much from expert interviews conducted while
interpreting and presenting the data collected at commemorative events, and also
from understanding the biographical narrative interview texts.

3. 1. 5 Interpretation of the data gathered

Gilbert Ryle (1968) gives the example of two boys winking with their right eyes:
one of them does it because of a nervous tick; the other is imitating him. As
researchers, at the thinnest level of observation we only see two boys acting in
the same way. However, we need to analyze the meaning embedded in the action
we are observing to understand a phenomenon. At the 'thinnest level of
description', two contractions of the eyelids may be exactly alike, but a 'thick
description', which is constituted of a many-layered sandwich, of which only
the bottom slice is catered for by that thinnest description,12 emphasizes the

12 http://lucy.ukc.ac.uk/CSACSIA/Vol14/Papers/ryle_1.html (accessed 2 October 2012).

60
different processes and dynamics behind a practice. Ryles discussion inspired
Clifford Geertz (1973),13 who frequently used the term thick description in his
writings, particularly in his works on culture.
When interpreting commemorative practices, in order to achieve a thick
description I have avoided providing only descriptive accounts of appearances
winking right eyes. Instead, I have focused on the meanings exchanged
in/by/through these practices. I have analyzed the historical, social and political
processes which structure the meaning embedded in the symbols, myths and
rituals involved. In addition I have tried to enrich my interpretation of the
commemorations by focusing on the production of memory places, and the role
of power relations on memory products and practices.

3. 2 Doing biographical research

In order to understand how the collective memory of the revolutionaries is being

reconstructed within the changing conditions of social frameworks in the case of
the 1980 military coup d'tat, in combination with participant observation I
conducted biographical narrative interviews both in Turkey and Germany. Thus,
in this section, I will discuss the overlapping features of the theory of collective
memory particularly Halbwachs approach and biographical case
reconstruction methodology as developed by Gabriele Rosenthal, as well as my
experiences while conducting and analyzing the interviews. 14
All the interviews were conducted in Turkish, and analysis of them was
carried out using the original Turkish texts. It is only at the stage of presenting
the empirical findings in this thesis that the quotations have been translated into
English. Therefore, the analyses have not been performed on translated that is
to say already interpreted texts, but in order to arrive at the closest meaning of
the interviews the Turkish texts have been used. In translating the parts quoted in

13 For Geertz's discussion of participant observation and the concept of 'thick description see Thick
description: toward an interpretive theory of culture, in: The interpretation of cultures: selected
essays. New-York/N.Y./USA etc. 1973: Basic Books, pp. 3-30.
14 Empirical data and the analyses of the interview materials are elaborated several times at the
meetings of the research group on methodology Forschungswerkstatt coordinated by Prof. Karin
Schittenhelm. Hence, I am grateful to the comments and suggestions made by my colleagues and
Prof. Schittenhelm. My internal perspective is much challenged at those meetings. I am also grateful
to Dr. Nicole Witte, from who I learned a lot on method of biographical case reconstructions at the
workshops she conducted at University of Siegen. She even showed me the analytical steps of the
method by discussing one of the cases from my research. The empirical findings of the research,
especially the analyses of the biographies are also discussed at the Colloquium coordinated by Prof.
Gabriele Rosenthal at Georg-August University Gttingen on 7th of January 2013. Prof. Rosenthal,
kindly offered me to review the analyses I made on the biographies. I appreciate her interest in my
research and the feedback she gave me on those analyses, which opened my path for the following
interpretations of the biographies.
61
this study, I have tried to keep the meaning of the original text as it was narrated,
also reflecting grammatical mistakes. I have not corrected the structures of the
sentences, and nor have I tried to 'heal' the expressions in order for them to make
'sense' in English translation. Nevertheless, some Turkish expressions are quite
difficult to translate. In those cases I give the original Turkish texts in footnotes.
In addition, all the translated excerpts have been double-checked by a colleague
to ensure the minimum amount of interpretation possible. 15

3. 2. 1 Sampling

Between 2010 and 2013 I conducted nineteen biographical narrative interviews:

ten with men and nine with women. Ten interviews were conducted in Germany
(Cologne and Berlin) and nine in Turkey (Istanbul and Ankara). They lasted
between two and four hours16 and in some cases I needed to conduct multiple
interviews with the same interviewee at different times. There were two couples
of which I interviewed both members, one in Berlin and another in Istanbul. The
interviewees were between 49 and 61 years of age at the time of the interviews
between 19 and 30 at the time of the military coup dtat. One of the main
criteria for sampling was political involvement in the revolutionary movement.
Accordingly, the interviewees needed to:

- have been involved in the revolutionary movement of the 1970s as a

sympathizer, militant or member of a revolutionary organization, union, or
political party; and
- be engaged in a political organization or civil rights organization at the time of
the interview.

Additionally, the location, gender and multiplicity of the left-wing movement

played a role in the definition of the sampling criteria. As previously mentioned,
entering the field was first realized through organizations (DDF and TDAY in
Germany; the Revolutionary 78s Federation, HD and the Labour Party EMEP
in Turkey), and later through personal references from the interview partners.

15 I am grateful to my colleague mer Karl at Siegen University, who has double checked the
translated interviews studiously and with great patience.
16 Apart from one interview, all the interviews were recorded digitally. Another interviewee did not
have enough time and her narrative was interrupted several times by phone calls. The interview lasted
about 35 minutes. We could not continue our interview under those conditions and decided to meet
for a second time. However, she did not come to the second meeting and later told me that she was
recovering from serious health problems and had to be treated in hospital for several weeks. The
main narrative of the interview, which I will discuss later, was focused on the massacre at Sivas in
1993, where she lost her husband. Although she experienced 12 September as a political high school
student, this later trauma left deeper marks on her biography.
62
Although my sample was constituted by revolutionaries from various political
parties and groups (I interviewed women from 7 different political organizations
and men from 6 including two different revolutionary Kurdish organizations),
considering the dispersed structure of the revolutionary movement in Turkey
(between 1971 and 1980 there were 48 revolutionary parties, as Aykol (2010)
reports) many groups and parties were necessarily left out unintentionally.

3.2. 2 Building trust

One of the difficulties in doing research with people who have been subject to
brutal violence, imprisonment and persecution is the problem of building trust,
which is crucial in narrative interviewing. Both the exiles in Germany and
revolutionaries residing in Turkey, even if they are not actively taking part in
politics at present, fear an invasion of human rights, either against themselves or
against relatives. Some of the interviewees in Turkey were released according to
the law of conditional release17, while the exiles had left the country illegally.
Some of the exiles had left the country after a prison breakout, having been
sentenced to death or to life imprisonment, and some had to escape because they
were being followed by security forces. In all cases, narrating their life stories
was a risk. My responsibility was thus to reduce the risks and build trust in my
relationships with the interviewees.
My own family history and political engagement helped me establish
myself as an insider and to construct a trustworthy relationship with the
interviewees. At the very beginning of the research, my father; Mustafa Karacan,
helped me to contact friends of his in Germany with whom he had been involved
in the revolutionary movement. When I was introduced to members of
organizations, my insiderness was introduced through my being presented as
the daughter of our old friend. I was considered someone from the us family.
My participation in the activities of these revolutionary organizations
strengthened the trust in my relationship with the members of the organizations.
After these introductions, some people volunteered to take part in my research;
some provided me with new contacts to conduct interviews.

17 Conditional release was approved with the 12 April 1991 terror law number 3713 issue 17. After
this change in the law, many political prisoners were released on the conditions of not being involved
in political activities or taking part in demonstrations that are banned by the constitutional laws. In
the case of taking part in these activities or repeating their crimes, prisoners thus released are to be
sentenced again to serve the remaining part of the previous penalties. The law (in Turkish) can be
seen at: http:// www .resmigazete .gov .tr/ main .aspx? home= http ://www .resmigazete .gov .tr /arsiv
/20843_1.pdf&main=http://www.resmigazete.gov.tr/arsiv/20843_1.pdf
63
3. 2. 3 Conducting biographical narrative interviews

After deciding who to interview I worked on formalizing the initial question for
the main narrative in which the interviewees were expected to relate their
biographies. Although the main concern of this study is the construction of the
collective memory of 12 September, instead of restricting the interviews to the
event of the military coup, as suggested by Fritz Schtze (1976, 1983)s
biographical narrative interview method, my interviewees were encouraged to
narrate their life story as whole. Within these entire life stories of the
interviewees it is possible to observe how individuals reconstruct the past
according to their present social frameworks. In this respect, the biographical
narrative interview method has a common ground with Halbwachs' theory of
collective memory: the past is reconstructed within the frame of present life.
Rosenthal argues that [w]hen reconstructing a past (the life history) presented in
the present of a life narrative (the life story) it must be considered that the
presentation of past events is constituted by the present of narrating. The present
of the biographer determines his or her perspective on the past and produces a
specific past at times (2006: 1). Thus the main aim of the interviews was to
allow the revolutionaries to tell their life stories without being restricted to the
past of 12 September. A second important thing was not to interrupt the flow of
the narrative. Therefore, I tried to meet my interview partners when they were
not constrained by time, by other people, or by other things to do, in order to
avoid any external interruptions. During the main narrative, I encouraged the
biographers to continue their narratives with non-verbal gestures, but where
possible I avoided any kind of intervention during the narrative.
Before I met the interviewees for the interview they already had some
knowledge about my research, and had some general ideas about my main
arguments and how I was conducting the research. This was either because I had
told them about these things when I first met them at their organizations, or they
had been informed about my research by the third persons who had introduced
them to me. Therefore, although I asked them not to limit their narratives to the
past of 12 September, based on their previous knowledge of my research, it was
expected that the interviewees would, nevertheless, focus on 12 September.
Being aware of these issues, the initial question was formalized as follows:
(As you already know) my research is about the memory of 12 September. In this sense, I
would like to listen to your whole life story. You have as much time as you need. I am not
going to interrupt you during your narrative; I will only take some notes to ask when you
finish. Please tell me when you want me to stop recording or when you need a break. If we
can't finish the interview today we may meet another time to continue.

Depending on the conversation I had had with the biographer before the
interview, or depending on their previous knowledge of my research, the first
part as you already know is included or not in the initial question. The initial
64
question was often followed by a counter-question about where to start, or what I
meant by whole life story, or the extent of the biography. As suggested by
Rosenthal, I did not comment more on their questions about where to start, in
order to give the biographer the possibility of constructing the narrative from
whatever staring point and however they wanted. Their decisions on how to start
the narrative was also important in analyzing the data, as this can be understood
as a selected phase of constructing the narrative. Rosenthal (1993) argues:
[t]he term total life clearly cannot be taken as meaning simply a review of every single event
that ever took place in a persons life but must rather be interpreted in the Gestalt sense of
biography as a comprehensive, general pattern of orientation, that is nevertheless selective to
the extent to which it separates the relevant from the irrelevant. In practice, this means that the
oral account has to be even more selective; as Martin Kohli (1986a:93) points out, with
reference to the total material of life, any life story is highly selective and aggregating. The
narrated life story thus represents the biographers overall construction of his or her past and
anticipated life, in which biographically relevant experiences are linked up in a temporally and
thematically consistent pattern (Fischer 1982). It is this biographical overall construct that
ultimately determines the way in which the biographer re-constructs the past and makes
decisions as to which individual experiences are relevant, which should or may be included and
which he or she would rather omit (1993: 61).

Therefore when they asked where to start, the interviewees were encouraged to
choose their own sequence, and to structure their narrative as they wanted. Thus
I wanted to encourage the interviewees to generate a spontaneous
autobiographical narrative which is not structured by questions posed by the
interviewer but by the narrators structures of relevance (Apitzsch 2007: 9). In
some cases, however, I suggested making another appointment to continue when
the main narrative lasted more than 2-3 hours. In these situations, I faced the
difficulties of paying enough attention, concentrating on the narrative, taking
notes, and formulating my questions for the second phase.
Following the first phase of the main narrative, questions based on it
internal questions, so to say were asked. The aim of the internal questions was
to encourage the interviewees to continue narrating stories that had been passed
over quickly, or only slightly mentioned. For the internal questions, I formulated
narrative-generating questions18, as suggested by Rosenthal, such as: Would

18 Rosenthal suggests that the initial questions which would be narrative generating could be as
follows: 1. Addressing a phase of the interviewees life: Could you tell me more about the time
when you were (a child, in school, pregnant etc.)? Or, indicating interest in the process: Could you
tell me more about your time in the army, perhaps from the first days until the end of your training?
2. Addressing a single theme in the interviewees life by opening a temporal space: Could you tell
me more about your parents? Perhaps from your earliest memories till today. 3. Addressing a
specific situation already mentioned in the interview: You mentioned situation x earlier, could you
tell me/narrate in more detail what exactly happened? 4. Eliciting a narrative to clarify an argument
already made before: Can you recall a situation when your father behaved in an authoritative way
(when you stopped believing in justice, peace, etc.)? 5. Addressing a non-self-experienced
65
you like to tell me more about your family before/after you moved to X city?,
Could you tell me more about your life during your education/work at X
university/company? Rosenthal (2003) argues that storytelling can have healing
effects for the narrator and she suggests, but only after asking if the biographer is
willing to have some support in remembering, that the interviewer use the scenic
memory technique to help the narrator to remember those events. She writes:
First, we make certain that they would like help in remembering and constructing a narration.
So, for example, we ask: Would you like me to help you in remembering that? If the
interviewee responds in the affirmative, then in conversations with people presently in stable
life situations, we in part also use the scenic-memory technique, as I call it, and try together
with the interviewee to go into the past situation and put the individual fragments together (see
the following). Another type of questioning also in a narrative style targets fantasies and
dreams that we reconstruct in the same way as in the scenic-memory technique. If, for
example, the daughter of a Shoah survivor says that she does not know anything about the time
her mother spent in a concentration camp, then we ask: Can you recall a situation when you
fantasized about your mother at this time? (Rosenthal 2003: 919).

However, if the biographer avoided telling me about a traumatic event, how s/he
had been tortured, how s/he or a loved one was arrested or persecuted, how s/he
experienced imprisonment, I did not request further narrative. There were two
basic reasons: the first reason is that as a sociologist I am not expert in dealing
with personal trauma and my study does not aim to analyze trauma
experiences; instead I am interested in social frameworks of memory and how
they are embedded in biographies. Within these narratives, as a matter of course,
memories of sorrows or traumatized stories are likely to emerge. Nevertheless,
I believe that the narrator, without being asked whether s/he wanted help in
remembering, should decide out of his/her free will to remember or not. It is the
biographer, not the researcher, who has the right to their own memory of the past.
The point is particularly important in memory research, since we look for the
reconstruction of the past in the present, rather than seeking things that remain
forgotten. Instead, we need to understand the conditions which make
remembering some events, people and images possible and others not. This does
not mean I have underestimated the biographers experiences of traumatic
events, and nor did I avoid them when biographers told me about how they had
been tortured, or other physical or psychological violence they had experienced.
Furthermore, even if the biographers did not talk directly about a traumatic event
they experienced, in the analysis of the interviews I realized that they still talk
much about these experiences in a more indirect way, as I will show in Chapter
6.
A second reason for not asking for more information about traumatic

event/phase or transmitted knowledge: Can you remember a situation when somebody talked about
this event (how your father died)? (2003: 918).

66
memories is that I was aware of the fact that trying to forget could be a recovery
strategy for individuals who have experienced a difficult past. Nonetheless, in
order to learn from the experiences of people who work on difficult pasts, in
March 2011 I met two experts, Maria Bttche and Katrin Schock, from the
Berlin Centre for Torture Victims (BZFO). The suggestions of these experts
focused on preparation before the interviews, the problem of narrating a
traumatized past and how to handle this as an interviewer, and how to react when
a biographer talks about her/his trauma. I summarize the suggestions from which
I benefitted during my research below:

Before the Interview:

Avoidance: some people do not like to remember a traumatic past. It should

always be made clear that the interviewee does not have to tell all the details of
the story. When interviewing with partners, family members or friends together,
the interviewer should be aware that biographers may not wish to talk about the
trauma/violence they have experienced in order not to sadden their loved ones.
Acceptance (complicated grief): it is also possible that biographers would
like to remember and talk about what they have experienced, what has happened,
how they were tortured etc., but may not know how to construct their stories. At
that point some may choose to write autobiographical books: writing is not only
a therapy but it is also a testimony.

During the Interview:

A traumatized person can be aggressive when narrating the trauma, or s/he can
tell all the details, or may want to shock the interviewer with their experience. In
this case, the interviewer should value their trust and give them the space to
continue further. The interviewer should not put any pressure on the biographer
to control his/her feelings; instead the interviewer should show her/his
understanding and should appreciate biographers for their trust in sharing their
story. Therefore, it is also important to tell the biographer how strong s/he is
being to tell his/her story to someone else.

After the Interview:

Coping with the information: after the interview, the interviewer should not leave
the open box on the table, which can be dangerous for the biographer. In this
situation, the interviewer needs to say that s/he is impressed by hearing what the
biographer has lived through and how s/he is coping with it. It is also important
to suggest that traumatized biographers get further help from experts or
institutions whose field of expertise is trauma.

67
 These suggestions from the BZFO experts were helpful during the
interviewing processes. However, as explained in Chapter Two, in the analysis of
the interviews trauma is considered historically and socially structured
phenomena, rather than naturally existing. By referring to Alexander and other
authors, I argue that what is more important for collective memory researchers is
not the psychological affects and results of trauma as experienced by individuals,
but rather the historical, political and social conditions of collective trauma, since
the events do not, in and of themselves, create collective trauma. Events are not
inherently traumatic. Trauma is a socially mediated attribution (Alexander 2004:
8).
The second phase of questions is called external questions because they are
not related to what the biographers had already recounted in their main narrative,
but rather were based on my research questions. The external questions that I
formulated for this study aimed to find answers to my research questions by
understanding how the biographers experienced changing social frameworks and
the extent to which these changing frameworks affect their understanding of the
past. The list for generating external questions consisted of the topics below:

- how biographers remember their daily life practices and cultural life before the
coup;
(if persecuted or imprisoned) the changes they observed in society after their
release;
- how they generally talk about the past of 12 September with family members,
with partners, and with members of the second generation;
- how exiles integrated into the new society;
- how exiles found the social, political and cultural life in Turkey after their first
visit;
if the exiles had any chance to meet their friends from the 70s on their visits to
Turkey, the changes they observe;
- what they think about the reasons and the results of the military coup in
general.

By asking these external questions focused on change, I wanted to get

subjective interpretations of these political, historical and cultural events as
experienced in the past and remembered in the present. In the following section
on the analysis of the interview texts, I show the importance of understanding the
past as experienced and the narration of past experiences in the present, not only
in Halbwachs presentist approach to collective memory, but also in Rosenthals
approach to the analysis of biographies.

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3. 2. 4 Analysis of the biographical narrative interviews: the biographical case
reconstruction method

He wrote me: I will have spent my life trying to understand the function of remembering,
which is not the opposite of forgetting, but rather its lining. We do not remember, we rewrite
memory much as history is rewritten. How can one remember thirst? Chris Marker, Sans
Soleil19

Individuals narrate their biographies in a process of reasoning and meaning-

making as well as through the interaction they have with others who are present
at the time of narration. Therefore, interpretation of biographical narratives
means reconstruction of a text which itself is a reconstruction of the experiences
of the past. We cannot get the pure experience from biographies, but we can
understand how individuals rewrite (in the words of Chris Marker) or reconstruct
their pasts. The lines quoted from Sans Soleil emphasize the relation between
experience and memory: 'how can one remember thirst?' Is it possible to recall
and narrate a bodily state as it was experienced in the past?
For further discussion, it is necessary to first think about what we
understand by erleben (to experience). Gadamer writes that erleben means to be
still alive when something happens. [] What is experienced is always what one
has experienced oneself (Gadamer 2006 [1975]: 53). Hence, the root of the
word is leben to live. The noun form of the word, Erlebnis (experience), on the
other hand, denotes what has already been experienced. Gadamer states that this
is the reason that the word Erlebnis only became common in the 19th century,
after the new genre in literature of biographical writing emerged. He writes
[t]hus it is quite understandable that the word emerges in biographical literature
and ultimately stems from its use in autobiography. What can be called an
experience constitutes itself in memory. By calling it such, we are referring to the
lasting meaning that an experience has for the person who has it (2006: 58).
Similarly, Nietzsche discusses the transferability of lived life as experienced. He
writes: Our true experiences are not at all garrulous. They could not
communicate themselves even if they tried: they lack the right words. We have
already gone beyond whatever we have words for (Nietzsche 1997 [1889]: 94).
Socrates in his dialogue with Theaetetus explains the difference between the
narration of an experience as remembered and what is experienced at the time:
For do you really suppose that anyone would accept the memory which a man
has of an impression which has passed away as being the same as that which he
experienced at the time? Assuredly not (Plato 1995).
Narrating past experiences applies a meaning-making process, where the
narrator's present thoughts, notions, values and feelings (including the interaction
between the researcher and the biographer) play a crucial role. Rosenthal

19 Chris Marker, Sans Soleil, online source: http:// www .markertext .com/ sans _ soleil.htm
(accessed October 2012)
69
developed her method of data analysis, namely the biographical case
reconstruction method, by focusing on the problem of understanding the
difference between past experiences as lived and as narrated. She claims that
with the method of biographical narrative interviewing, as developed by Fritz
Schtze (1979; 1983), we can increase the closeness to the experienced past
(Rosenthal 2006: 3) since the flow of narrative would generate a stream of
memories, impressions, images, sensual and physical feelings and components of
the remembered situation (Rosenthal 2006: 3).
Nonetheless, what we are able to understand in biographies is what
biographers have already gone beyond, thus they are able to narrate. Moreover,
narrative itself consists of a meaning-making process; it should have a
meaningful structure, a form which places events and people in a meaningful
order. Therefore we need to focus on the structures that define the actions,
notions and thoughts of individuals in the past, and those in the present, through
which individuals reconstruct the meanings of their past experiences. How are
we, then, to understand the dynamics of the meaning-making processes of
reconstructing the past, and how effective are they in individuals' present lives?
One of the main theoretical questions raised concerning the biographical
case reconstruction method is that of how to understand the collective within
individual narratives. Particularly in a study like this, when dealing with
collective reconstructions of the past rather than individual perceptions, the
question is worth discussing. Although the terms individual and collective appear
to be opposites at first sight, as I have shown through Halbwachs, in the case of
collective memory individuals' memories are constructed within society, and
depend on their relations with existing social frameworks. Therefore, what we
obtain as biographical narratives are themselves collective constructions.
Individuals choose what to tell and how to narrate according to their perspectives
in the present (bearing in mind the role of the interaction, which will be
discussed later). We are able to see how individuals reconstruct the past in the
present through analyzing the meanings they give to their actions at the time of
the events experienced in the past, and how they reconstruct those meanings in
the present. Rosenthal (2004: 49) writes: In order to understand and explain
peoples actions it is necessary to find out about both the subjective perspective
of the actors and the courses of action. We want to find out what they
experienced, what meaning they gave their actions at the time, what meaning
they assign today, and in what biographically constituted context they place their
experiences (Rosenthal 2004). The collective (the social frameworks of
memory) is embedded in individual narratives. The focus of biographical
analysis is not only the reconstruction of intentionality, which is represented as
an individuals life course, but the embeddedness of the biographical account in
social macro structures (Apitzsch 2007: 7). Thus, a biographical interpretive
method of analyzing narrative life stories is suitable for collective memory

70
studies. In analyzing biographical narratives we are able to see thoughts and
actions shared collectively being imposed on individuals, or to put it another
way, in biographies we are able to understand the historical, social and political
structures embedded in the individual, since biographies make it possible to
combine history, society and individual processes of meaning (Mills 1959
quoted in Kupferberg 2012: 227).
What are the principal dynamics of these collective activities and how are
they embedded in biographies, if individuals reconstruct their perception of the
past according to their present perspectives? Moreover, a comparison between
life histories (life as experienced) and life stories (life as narrated), the basis of
the biographical case reconstruction method, is a helpful approach to understand
how individuals construct their experienced past lives their life histories in
their present lives. Rosenthal (2004: 54) gives the steps in the biographical case
reconstruction method as follows:

- Analysis of biographical data;

- Textual and thematic field analysis (structure of self-presentation;
reconstruction of the life story: narrated life);
- Reconstruction of the life history (lived life as experienced);
- Microanalysis of individual text segments;
- Contrastive comparison of life history and life story;
- Development of types and contrastive comparison of several cases.

The analysis of life histories consists of examining the chronological events that
took place in the lives of individuals. These past events are narrated by the
biographer, but the researcher has to do an additional search of archives,
newspapers and any other records to find other historical events which might
have affected the biographers lives in the past. This is also important for the last
phase of the analysis; the comparison of life stories and life histories. In the
present analysis of life histories, sources such as autobiographical books,
interviews and documentaries have been used. However, it is obvious that neither
researchers nor even the biographers themselves can find all the sources of
events in the past, and therefore it is necessary to rely on what interviewees tell
us about these events. For example, my interview partners who were arrested
either before or during the junta regime told me when and how they were
arrested, for how long they were tortured, and the physical injuries they had after
these tortures. However, most of these arrests were not recorded by the military.
Moreover, there is an absence of any kind of document such as medical records
or court reports which can prove these human rights violations. In such cases I
relied on what the biographers told me as being the events in their life histories.
In the analysis of life histories, I also considered important political
upheavals in the past to see how these political upheavals are remembered in the

71
life stories of the biographers, whether they are mentioned in the narratives or
not. I chose some of these political changes because they were remembered in
commemorative activities. Some of the events used in the analysis are
understood by economists and historians as turning points in political, economic
or cultural life in Turkey. These events are particularly important to understand
how turning points in the basic structures of society are reflected / presented in
individual life stories. The events that have been considered in the analysis of the
interviews are the following:

1960 27.05.1960 military coup d'tat against the Menderes

government
1977 1st of May: Bloody May

5.06.1977 (national elections, CHP obtained the largest share of

the vote 41%)
1978 5.01.1978 new government is established by Ecevit

16.03.1978 attack against university students in Istanbul. 7

killed, 41 wounded.

4.09.1978 Massacre in Sivas

09.10.1978 Bahcelievler Massacre (murder of 7 TP militants in

Ankara)

26.12.1978 Massacre in Maras (150 Alevis killed by extremists

in Maras)
1979 11.07.1979 Military Operation in Fatsa
Ecevit government withdrawn. New right-wing coalition
government established on 25.11.1979.
27.12.1979 A warning letter from generals to the president.
1980 24th of January: IMF enforcement of economic regulations and
approval of zal's rules.

May-July: massacre in Corum (57 Alevis killed, according to

official records)

12th of September: coup d'tat

Table I Historical events used in life histories.

72
In addition to the events listed above, for each interview I considered the dates of
martial law in the city of residence, the closure of the organizations in which the
interviewees were involved, and any other major changes taking place in the
cities of residence. Besides the political and economic changes, family events
(loss of a family member, marriage, birth of children, persecution of a
friend/family member) are included in the analysis. For the exiles I additionally
included their dates of arrival in Germany, of their first visit to Turkey, of the
establishment of organizations abroad in which they were involved, and of the
major activities of these organizations.
Rosenthal refers to Fritz Schtze (1979; 1983), Oevermann (1979; 1980)
and Fischer (1982)20 for the method of thematic field analysis which is based on
analysis of narratives, objective hermeneutics and thematic field analysis. This
level of analysis involves analyzing the life story (for the main narrative part of
the interview) by considering the changing sequences and themes in the
narrative, and then the structure of the text (text sort change) according to
whether the biographers' account is descriptive, argumentative, reporting,
narrative or evaluative.21 These two analytical steps aim to understand the
relation between the experienced and the narrated past. Kupferberg puts
emphasis in particular on the analysis of turning points in biographical
narratives, which are interesting for sociologists not only because they tell what
happened (facts) but also how the agents made sense of what happened (2012:
235). Kupferbergs concept of turning points in biographies is important: it is the
facts and agents reconstruction of these facts which the researcher should try to
understand, and not the agents inner psychological motivations while
interpreting their acts in the past.
However, in generating my hypothesis, I faced the risk of becoming
involved in psychological reasonings about the individuals' acts, which is neither
a subject of sociological research nor a duty of a sociologist. In the analysis of
text sorts and thematic field analysis while generating the hypothesis, to reduce
the risk of dealing with psychological explanations of individuals' acts, I avoided
using why questions and focused more on how, and in what circumstances.
Lastly, in analyzing biographical interviews, as is the case in other
qualitative research methods, we should not forget that the reconstruction of the
narratives and the process of meaning-making are not independent of the
researcher. Rosenthal and Apitzsch discuss the problem of interaction during the
interview process, which needs to be considered when analyzing narrated life
stories. Rosenthal writes:

20 For a detailed explanation of the development of the biographical case reconstruction method
based on hermeneutics, thematic field analyses and the narrative analyses of biographical interviews
as developed by Schtze, see Gabriele Rosenthal; The narrative study of lives. 1993, 1 (1), 59-91.
21 A detailed discussion of the DARNE (description, argumentation, report, narration, evaluation)
typology can be read in Tom Wengraf, Qualitative Research Interviewing, Sage Publication: London,
California, New Delhi, 2001, pp. 243-245.
73
 Reconstructing the narrated life story we have to take into account another phenomenon. Each
interview is a product of the mutual interaction between speaker and listener. The narrator does
not simply reproduce pre-fabricated stories from her or his life regardless of the interactional
situation, but rather creates his or her story within the social process of mutual orientation
according to his or her definition of the interview situation (Rosenthal 1993: 62).

Similarly, Apitzsch argues that the matter of interaction should be considered

not only as a context but also as part of the method. She writes:
The social relationship between them (interviewer and the interviewee), their specific interests
and perspectives, and the social setting within which they meet and which they themselves
produce during the interview, have to be reflected and are always part of the analysis of
biographical narrative interviews (2007: 9).

It is not only the interaction which needs to be considered and reflected, but also
the 'interests, perspectives, and the social setting' which bring these two people
into the time of the conversation that should be included in the analysis.
Therefore, very shortly after conducting the interviews I took notes on the social
and material settings of the interview: how it took place, the general setting, who
was present at the time of the interview, what we talked about before and
afterwards. In presenting the reconstructed biographical cases in Chapter 6, to
reflect the interaction I give detailed information about the setting and the
background of the interview.
In biographical narratives we are able to see the common grounds of the
thoughts and actions shared collectively by the members of a group. The method
of biographical case reconstruction is in this sense quite suitable for collective
memory studies. However, to discover the embedded collectivity within
biographies, we also need to know the dynamics of the collectivity. In my
research, therefore, it was important to observe the characteristics of
commemorative activities and how they were structured and practised in order to
understand the reconstruction of the biographical narratives. Commemorations,
conferences and other mnemonic products and practices provide understanding
of the discourse, values and notions which form the collective memory of the
revolutionaries. These are the social frameworks of the revolutionaries memory
which reconstruct the individuals remembering of the past of 12 September. If
the main characteristics of the commemorations are victimization, heroization
and sacralization, it is no surprise to see their reflection in the individuals
narratives. Without understanding the social frameworks, and the political,
economic and historical structures of memory, individual memories run the risk
of remaining simply personal accounts.

74
4. Historical background

One of the most important turning points in Turkish history was the military
coup that took place on 12 September 1980. The coup, which in short is called
12 September, brought about radical structural changes in economics, politics,
and culture. Any work concerning the material and cultural life in Turkey shows
a strict division between before and after 1980. This is because the militarys
intervention in the civil democratic system in 1980 not only aimed at a shift in
the political system by oppressing leftist politics, and particularly the
revolutionary movement, but rather the junta and the governments following it
aimed to restructure economic, social and cultural life. In Althussers terms, both
the repressive (armed forces) and the ideological state apparatuses (a new
constitution in 1982, a higher education institute, and censorship of broadcasting
and publishing) were used in conjunction to apply radical changes. To provide
background to this study, this chapter focuses on the historical background of 12
September and the economic, political and cultural changes that took place in
society with the regulations of the institutions established by the junta.
The historical background of 12 September and the resulting changes will
be summarized in three parts. The first part focuses on two previous military
coups, those of 27 May 1960 and 12 March 1971. Next, the second part will give
an overview of the political ambiguities caused by the rapidly changing coalition
governments in relation to their effects on the economy and of generating
conflicts between opposition groups. After recounting the political ambiguities,
mass massacres, the reaction of manufacturers, industrialists and unions, and
economic measures such as the 24th of January Measures, I will elaborate on the
institutional, judicial, economic and parliamentary changes that appeared under
the junta regime. Finally, in the last section of the chapter, I will discuss the
history of the revolutionary movement and the transnational influences on it,
particularly of revolutionary organizations in Germany.

4. 1 Turkey's first experiences with coups d'tat: 27 May 1960 and 12

March 1971

In modern Turkish history, military coups have become familiar occurrences

since the republic was established in 1923. From 1923 until recently the military
has been the leading power in the political life of Turkey. The first military coup
took place on 27 May 1960 against a Democratic Party (DP) government. Prime
Minister Adnan Menderes was punished with the death penalty along with two

75

E. Karacan, Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military Coup dtat,

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9_4, Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
other ministers, Fatih Rt Zorlu and Hasan Polatkan. The sentences were
carried out on 16 and 17 September 1961. The junta period lasted until 25
October 1961, when a civilian government was established after elections.
However, within ten years, on 12 March 1971, the military carried out
another coup dtat against a Justice Party (Adalet Partisi) government. Although
it was termed a military ultimatum, in practice the actions of the military were
no different to those of a junta regime. The government established by Prime
Minister Sleyman Demirel was forced to resign and in its place the generals
wanted a new independent government to be established. The military ultimatum
of 12 March 1971 is not only important in its role of consolidating the uncertain
journey of democracy in Turkish politics, but it also had a great impact on the 68
generation and 78 generation. Although both the left- and right-wing politicians
were initially uncertain about the political target and aims of the military, it was
soon discovered that the target was the left-wing opposition. The military, soon
after overthrowing the government, started to oppress the growing opposition of
leftist youths and to suppress trade unions, especially the DSK, 22 to end the
strikes that were taking place. Erik Jan Zrcher (2004) describes this confused
situation as follows:
Many on the left at first greeted the ultimatum with hope, interpreting it as a 1960-type coup
against a right-wing government. This soon proved to be a dreadful mistake. It was a 'coup' by
the high command, not by a radical group of officers and the high command by this time was
mesmerized by the spectre of a communist threat (2004: 258).

Short after the ultimatum was declared, the leftists saw the brutal face of the
coup. Together with members of the Workers Party of Turkey (TP; Trkiye i
Partisi), leaders of the youth movement were arrested, youth organizations were
closed and trade union members were repressed all over the country.
Furthermore, well-known leaders of the 68 generation, Deniz Gezmi, Yusuf
Aslan, and Hseyin nan were executed on 6 May 1972. Feroz Ahmad argues
that the motivation behind this suppression of left-wing groups was to curb trade
union militancy and the demands for higher wages and better working
conditions. That was one of the successes of the military regime, at least in the
short run (1993: 149). Ahmad, while mentioning the military regimes success in
oppressing the left for a short time, points out that this oppression, on the other
hand, generated a stronger revolutionary movement: the 78 movement based on
the legacies of the 68 generation. The execution of the three leaders Deniz
Gezmi, Yusuf Aslan, and Hseyin nan was an unexpected act which in turn
brought about distrust towards the new regime in society.

22 DSK is a workers unions confederation established in February 1967. For more information
please visit the web page of DSK: http://www.disk.org.tr/category/about-us/
76
4. 2 Twilight times: 1970s towards the coup

The political upheavals which took place in the years between the 12 March
coup and 1980 have great importance in Turkish history. As economists (Boratav,
Kazgan, Parla) and historians (Ahmad, Zrcher) have shown, the global
economic crisis of the 1970s, which especially intensified during the oil crisis of
1973, forced Turkey to adopt liberal economic policies under the regulations of
the International Money Fund (IMF) and the World Bank by the end of the
1970s. This section focuses on the structural changes during the 1970s which
created the basis for the 12 September Coup. The changes will be discussed
under three headings; the economic crisis and political instability, violence
against civil society, and the reaction of the labour movement.

4. 2. 1 Political and economic instabilities:

According to Ebru Deniz Ozan (2012), the crisis of the 1970s was a structural
crisis occurring as a result of over-accumulation of capital after World War II,
and therefore required not only new economic regulations but also overall
regulation of the relations between economic and political power, as well as
radical changes in the whole society (2012: 48). Similarly, Zrcher argues that
the political instability too was generated out of economic crises (2004: 267).
The oil crises of 1973-74 and 1979-80 and a lack of electricity generation
resulted in energy supply problems for industry. The ineffective measures of the
National Front coalition were not sufficient to stop the growth of the black
market, nor to prevent inflation. Zrcher's account shows us the size of the
economic disaster:
The rising price of energy and the irresponsible financial policies of successive governments
fuelled inflation. Inflation had been running at around 20 per cent a year during the early part
of the 1970s, but by 1979 it was at 90 per cent and rising. The government tried to keep
inflation down by controlling prices through the price-control board (which existed from 1973
to 1980). The result was a huge black market (2004: 267).

In addition to high inflation and the oil crisis, rising unemployment rates
weakened the new coalition government established in 1974 between Ecevit's
CHP (Republican People's Party) and Erbakan's MSP (National Salvation Party).
This Ecevit-Erbakan government was also troubled with the Cyprus crisis of
1974, and it lasted only eleven months. In 1975, a National Front (Milli
Cephe) government consisting of a coalition of four right-wing parties was
established under Sleyman Demirel's leadership. Both Ahmad and Zrcher
agree that the period of National Front government was understood by the
parties in the coalition as a chance to place their sympathizers and supporters in
critical positions in ministry departments. In Ahmad's words: The state was
77
parcelled out between the parties, which used the ministries assigned to their
members to provide patronage for their supporters. In this way, the Islamists and
the neo-fascists strengthened their hand throughout Turkey (1993: 165).
Similarly, Zrcher evaluates this period with these words: They set about
colonizing their ministries in an unprecedented way: thousands of civil servants
were discharged or demoted and replaced with party loyalists (2004: 261). The
political instability continued towards the end of the 1970s with turn-taking
governments established by Ecevit (Minority government, June-July 1977; a
coalition government, January 1978-November 1979) and Demirel (2nd National
Front Government, July 1977-January 1978; a minority government, November
1979-September 1980).

4. 2. 2 Trade unions and the labour movement

What kind of radical measures were applied to solve the problems caused by
the economic crisis and the rapid changes in parliament? In the 1970s, the IMF
was suggesting that Turkey should lower the incomes of workers and apply a
free-market economy. The economy would change from import-substitution
industrialization to export-oriented industrialization, which was also supported
by the industrialists, business organizations, and chambers of commerce. Savran
(2003) argues that reducing wages is the basic element of both neo-liberal
economies and export-oriented industrialization strategies. Moreover, in export-
oriented industrialization strategies wages run bigger risks than in import-
substitution industrialization, because of an accumulation of capital (Savran
2003, quoted in Ozan 2012: 165). On the other hand, it was not only the IMF that
forced the governments to adopt and apply neo-liberal politics to the economy,
but also the industrialists were dissatisfied with the situation. Between April and
June 1979, the employers' organization TSAD (Organization of Turkish
Industrialists and Businessman) published full pages of announcements in
national newspapers. The content of the announcements focused on two basic
points. First, they declared the economic politics of the Ecevit government of
1979 and the trade unions bore the main responsibility for the economic
depression and unemployment. The second point was their suggestion to
establish a welfare state by providing liberal entrepreneurship in a free-market
economy, which they called the realistic solution. 23 Ozan shows that the
industrialists supported the view of social crisis' and 'anarchy' as being the
reasons for the economic crisis, and declared that the governments lacked the
ability to take suitable steps. She writes:
In the beginning, the crisis was explained by referring to the international conjuncture, and

23 Milliyet, 15 May 1979, page 3.

78
 foreign conjunctures were pointed to as being responsible for it by capitalists. However, the
deeper the economic crisis went, the more they pointed to internal economic politics, the
politics of the government, as the reasons for the crisis and obstacles to solutions. [...] Thus,
they were pointing to the recent crisis of representation and the need for a government which
could help them to achieve their desired regulations (Ozan 2012: 70, my translation).

Like the TSAD, other industrial organizations and chambers of commerce,

such as TSK and TOBB24, published in various newspapers as well as in their
own organizations journals their requests to the government in support of the
IMF regulations and their advice to control inflation. Their advice basically
focused on these points:

a. Labour costs had to decrease to reduce inflation;

b. Some measures regarding the rights of workers, such as concerning
strikes and lockouts, needed to be taken in order to prevent higher production
costs;
c. There had to be measures against social crises and anarchy, which
deepen the economic crisis (Ozan 2012: 71-73, my translation).

Ecevit was not willing to apply the IMF regulations. His strategy was to
encourage exports by drastically curbing consumption at home (Ahmad 1993:
177). After the TSAD advertisements were published in the national
newspapers, Ecevit's government lost a general election, and in November 1979
a Demirel minority government was established. The minority government's first
action was to please employers by taking the steps suggested by TSAD and
the IMF. An economist, Turgut zal, a technocrat who had failed thus far as a
politician (Ahmad 1993: 178), was charged with the task of applying the
'necessary changes' to better the economic situation. He was also the originator
of the famous TSAD advertisements. Later, zal became well known for his
measures named the January the 24th Measures, which caused a social disaster.
Korkut Boratav summarizes these measures as 32.7% devaluation, smaller state
involvement in the economy, rolling back government subsidies, opening the
economy to foreign investment and giving subsidies to exports.25 According to
The Economist, the measures of 24th of January created this picture:
Consumer items like cigarettes and alcohol went up in price by about 70%, rail fares by
170%... The days of attempted autarky are over. The country is to be opened up to western
investors, western oil companies and western banks... The state enterprises, perennial loss
makers that have kept the government deficit unmanageably high, are to be allowed to set their
own prices (Ahmad 1993: 178).

24 The Confederation of the Unions of Employers Turkey (TSK) was established in 1962. For more
information on TSK see: http:// www.tisk. org.tr /en/ . The Union of Chambers and Commodity
Exchanges of Turkey (TOBB) was established in 1950. For more information see: http:// www.tobb
.org. tr/ Sayfalar/Eng/Tarihce.aspx .
25 Korkut Boratav, http://www.sendika.org/english/yazi.php?yazi_no=13255
79
These measures imposed harder conditions and lower incomes on factory and
office workers. Since 1974 unemployment had been increasing by another
100,000 a year. A democratic environment in which workers enjoyed their rights
would make the employers' task of dealing with unions more difficult (Ahmad,
1993: 163). However, the majority of the salaried groups and students were
already members of trade unions and active in the worker's movement, which
gained more power in the mid-1970s. Ozan states that the trade unions were the
basic site of working class struggle: by 1974 almost half of the office workers
were members of trade unions (Yaman-ztrk quoted in Ozan 2012: 158).
The largest unions in the mid-1970s were the DSK (Confederation of
Revolutionary Trade Unions) and the TB-DER (Organization of Teachers
Union and Solidarity Turkey), which were mainly supported by leftists, whereas
TRK- (The Confederation of Trade Unions) was supported by rightist
groups. Both DSK and TB-DER, with their capacity to organize large
demonstrations all over the country against restrictions of labour rights, were
obviously the main target of the National Front governments which tried to apply
the IMF regulations. TRK-, on the contrary, followed a hand-in-glove
politics with the governments. As a rule, the confederation did not interfere in
politics, but sought good relations with whoever was in power (Zrcher 2004:
272-273).

4. 2. 3 Brutal violence and Alevi massacres

Towards the end of the 1970s the violence on the streets changed its form into
mass massacres. The first sign of these massacres, carried out by unidentifiable
perpetrators, was in Istanbul at the 1 May International Labour Day
demonstrations. Celebrating Labour Day in Turkey had only been allowed since
1976, after a struggle by the trade unions. In 1977, trade unions and student
organizations from all over the country participated in a Labour Day
demonstration at Taksim Square in Istanbul, protesting against the previously
described political impotency and deteriorating economic conditions. 26 During a
speech by the DISK chairman, Kemal Trkler, gunmen on the top floors of the
buildings around started to fire at the participants, which caused much panic.
Thirty-four people died as a result of the shootings and panic. The perpetrators of
the killings could not be found by the state authorities. This massacre was named
the Bloody 1st of May, and celebrations in Taksim Square were banned in 1979.
After the military coup in 1980, 1 st of May Labour Day celebrations were banned
until 1987.

26 According to the numbers given by DSK, there were over 500,000 participants at Taksim Square:
http://www.radikal.com.tr/haber.php?haberno=219881
http://www.wsws.org/articles/2003/may2003/turk-m01.shtml
80
 Almost one year after the Bloody 1st of May, on 18 and 19 April 1978, a
massacre in Malatya showed that the target of nationalist violence had become
the Alevi minority. Following Malatya, in the cities of Sivas (4 September 1978),
Mara (23-24 December 1978) and orum (29 May 1980) many people from the
Alevi minority were killed. According to Feroz Ahmad the Alevis, a minority
among a Sunni majority, had always supported secularism and therefore voted
for the RPP (Republican People's Party). They became the targets of the Action
Party's Grey Wolves, who denounced them as communists (1993: 171).

4. 3 The military take another turn: September the 12th Coup

Under these circumstances, the Turkish Armed Forces, according to the order of command
under the Law of International Service, which gives the duty of protecting and saving the
Turkish Republic, took the decision to take over the control of the country in whole in the
name of the great Turkish Nation.27

With these words, the military announced its intervention on the national radio
channel TRT at 3.59 am on 12 September 1980. Soon after the declaration of the
coup, civil and political rights were limited according to the regulations of the
newly established National Security Council (NSC, Milli Gvenlik Konseyi).
First, leaders of political parties were arrested and parliament was dissolved. The
trade union confederations DSK and MSK were closed28 and their executive
members were asked to surrender to the military forces. The National Security
Council declared martial law throughout the country and the mayors of cities
were exiled or arrested. Many revolutionaries and extremist nationalists from all
over the country were put into prison, starting in the first hours of the military's
radio announcement. One of the most disturbing martial law rules extended the
duration of detention from 15 days to 90 days (Mavioglu 2006: 60). This
prolongation created the space for arbitrary questioning of the victims by the

27 The whole text of the National Security Council's Proclamation Number 1 can be found in Turkish
at: http://www.belgenet.com/12eylul/12091980_01.html accessed 10.02.2012. The Turkish original
of the quoted translation is: te bu ortam iinde Trk Silahl Kuvvetleri, Hizmet Kanununun
verdii Trkiye Cumhuriyeti'ni kollama ve koruma grevini yce Trk Milleti adna emir ve komuta
zinciri iinde ve emirle yerine getirme kararn alm ve lke ynetimine btnyle el koymutur.
28 The MISK (Confederation of Nationalist Workers' Unions, Milliyeti i Sendikalar
Konfederasyonu), which was established by the nationalists in June 1970, did not organize any
activities, strikes or demonstrations during the 70s. However its members, like the members of the
DISK were called upon to surrender to the martial law units. In Faroz's opinion, this was an attempt
to convince people that neither the left nor the right were the target of the junta, that the junta kept an
equal distance from both sides. Officials belonging to MISK, the neo-fascist confederation of
unions, were also ordered to surrender; the purpose of this order was to create the impression that the
regime was impartial between the left and the right. MISK members never went on strike; of the
51,000 striking workers in September 1980, 47,319 belonged to DISK and the remainder to Trk-.
(Ahmad 1993: 182).
81
military. Prisoners were kept and questioned under torture for 90 days without
any judicial process, and their detention could be prolonged again for another 90
days 'if needed'. Although the aim of the intervention was declared as being to
keep the unity and cohesion of the nation, to prevent a possible civil war and to
stop the fight between opposing groups, it was the start of another bloody period
in the history of Turkey. In this period, the perpetrators of the violence were
directly the military and the members of the NSC. The head of the NSC, General
Kenan Evren, said in a speech that the intervention of the armed forces had
become obligatory in order to provide a peaceful life in Turkey in every aspect.
However, what was not mentioned in General Evren's speech was on the one
hand the need to adopt new economic politics as planned in zal's famous 24th
January measures, due to the pressure of industrialists (TSAD), and on the
other hand the long-term target of another political restructuring which would
provide long-term stability by depoliticising the entire society (Ahmad 1993:
178).

4. 3. 1 Reconstructing education: institute of higher education

The institutions established by the NSC and their activities support Feroz
Ahmad's argument that the junta's very reason for existence was 'political
restructuring and depoliticising the entire society'. After banning political parties
and trade unions, and arresting party leaders and trade union executives, the NSC
established its own cabinet consisting of soldiers to govern the country until the
first civilian government was established in 1983. The junta immediately formed
a committee together with members of the NSC and academics from law
faculties to work on a new constitution. This new constitution of 1982 created
the legal basis for the oppressive censorship politics of the NSC on the press,
virtual media and publishing. In addition, the Higher Education Law, which was
announced in 1981, provided full control over higher education for the armed
forces. Again in Ahmad's words, the main aim of the Higher Education Law was
to 'de-politicise' the universities by purging all adherents of the centre-left and
placing education in the hands of the nationalist-conservatives, the guardians of
ideological purity in the 12 September regime (1993: 185, original emphasis).
As a result of the Higher Education Law more than 300 undesirable academics
were dismissed from their jobs within one year (Zrcher 2004: 280).

4. 3. 2 The silence of fear: oppression of trade unions and media

Other oppressive provisions of the new constitution regarded freedom of thought

82
and speech, freedom of science and the arts, and freedom of the press. Taha Parla
shows that the 26th issue of general laws on the constitution requires a
permission system (2006: 60). Similarly, the 27th issue restricts the distribution
of foreign publications (Parla 2006: 60). In his analysis of the 1982 constitution
Parla states that the rights to establish NGOs and trade unions and to attend their
activities were limited, and the rights to go on general strike, secondary strike,
and political strike were abolished. With issues 77 and 78 political participation
was restricted to voting (Parla 2006: 60-65).
Any demonstration against the junta was prohibited by the martial law. 29
Moreover, the majority of the masses were under-informed about the
persecutions, tortures and other forms of oppression carried out by the junta
because of the censorship of the media. The only radio and TV channels were
owned by the national institution TRT (Institution of Turkish Radio and
Television), which was under the control of the Higher Controlling Council of
Prime Ministry, basically the NSC, during the junta regime. 30 The content of
broadcasts was controlled according to articles 23, 31, and 57 of the Law on
Radio and Television in Turkey number 2954.31 In article 23, the prime minister
was given the right to censor a broadcast or news 'when it is necessary' for
national security. Article 31 clearly states that all programmes should be
inspected by the members of the Controlling and Coordinating Broadcasting
Head Office before being broadcast. Finally, with article 57 the acts of junta
members were guaranteed against any opposition criticism. It declared: In terms

29 The Official Newsletter number 17080 dated 19 August 1980 announced that the martial law
which had been declared before was extended to the following twenty cities for the next two months:
Adana, Adyaman, Ar, Ankara, Bingl, Diyarbakr, Elaz, Erzurum, Gaziantep, Hakkari, Hatay,
istanbul, zmir, Kahramanmara, Kars, Malatya, Mardin, Siirt, Tunceli and Urfa. The Junta declared
martial law over the whole country on 12 September 1980. Only beginning in 1984 was martial law
cancelled in some cities and finally by July 1987 was it totally repealed for all cities.
30 The law on martial rule number 1402 articles 3b and 3c strictly prohibited any methods of
communication and not only gave permission to control, censor or cancel media broadcasting and
publishing but also made any communication by telephone, post or telegram subject to the control of
martial law soldiers.
b)Trkiye Radyo - Televizyon Kurumunun yaymlar dahil olmak zere telefon, telsiz, radyo,
televizyon gibi her eit aralarla yaplan yaym ve haberlemeye sansr koymak, kaytlamak veya
durdurmak ve hizmetin gerektirdii ahvalde bunlardan ncelikle faydalanmak;
c) (Deiik bent: 28/12/1982 - 2766/2 md.) Sz, yaz, resim, film ve sesle yaplan her trl yaym,
haberleme, mektup, telgraf vesair mersuleleri kontrol etmek; gazete, dergi kitap ve dier yaynlarn
basmn, yaymn, datmn, birden fazla sayda bulundurulmasn veya tanmasn veya
skynetim blgesine sokulmasn yasaklamak veya sansr koymak; skynetim komutanlnca
basm, yaym ve datlmas yasaklanan kitap, dergi, gazete,bror, afi, bildiri, pankart, plak, bant
gibi bilcmle evrak, yayn ve haberleme aralarn toplatmak; bunlar basan matbaalar, plak ve
bant yapm yerlerini kapatmak, msaderesine karar verilmemekle birlikte, skynetim
komutanlklarnca sahiplerine iadesinde saknca grlenlerin imhas iin gerekli nlemleri almak;
yayna yeni girecek gazete ve dergilerin karlmasn izne balamak;
31 The whole text of the law mentioned is available at: http:// www. Trt .net .tr /Duyuru /Duyuru
.aspx ?KategoriKodu=aaaaaaaa-bbbb-cccc-dddd-eeeeeeeeeeee
83
of broadcasts related to the [acts] of the Turkish Armed Forces a positive opinion
[approval] of the Head of Generals needs to be received.32 Besides the TRT
broadcasts, films, videos, plays and music were also subject to control. In this
period 937 films were deemed to be too dangerous for the public and banned. 33

4. 3. 3 Neo-liberal transformation of the economy

Unlike the previous coups d'tat of 1960 and 1971, the 1980 coup's agenda
consisted of a transformation in economics. As shown before through Ahmad and
Zrcher, the economist Turgut zal's economic measures could not be applied in
all their aspects during the civilian government because of the strong opposition
of the trade unions and the left-wing movement in general. Therefore, it is held
by historians and economists that the 12 September coup was encouraged and
supported by international (IMF, World Bank) and national (TSAD, TSK,
TOBB) organizations and industrialists (Sabanc Holding Company, Ko
Holding Company).34
In his deep analysis of the economic and political changes in the1980s,
Korkut Boratav portrays the role of Turgut zal as being indispensable to both
the NSC and the capitalists during the junta regime. Nevertheless, he still
maintains that zal's role in the economy should not be exaggerated, since the
people who held the power, the members of the NSC and especially the general
secretary Haydar Saltk, were already determined to achieve an incorporation
between international and national capital. Therefore, some of the members of
the Constitutive Assembly who were in charge of the new constitution were
employers and members of industrialists' organizations, and the laws regarding
trade unions and working conditions were drawn up favouring the requests of
the TSK (Confederation of Employers' Union Turkey) (Boratav 2005: 76-77).

32 The law number 2954 issue 57. In the original: Radyo ve televizyon yaynlar, yayndan nce
ayrca Trkiye Radyo- Televizyon Kurumu dndan hibir kii veya kurulu tarafndan
denetlenemez. Ancak, Trk Silahl Kuvvetleri ile ilgili yaynlar hakknda Genelkurmay Bakanlnn
olumlu gr alnr.
33 Cumhuriyet Newspaper, 12 September 2000.
34 Vehbi Ko, the owner and director of the Ko Holding Company mentioned his appreciation of
the coup, and offering cooperation between industrialists and the junta regime in a letter he sent to the
head of the junta, General Evren, after the military coup on 3.10.1980. More information about this
letter and relations between holding companies and the junta regime can be found in Mustafa
Snmez's book: Trkiye'de Holdingler: Krk Haramiler, 1987, Arkada Yaynlar, pp. 350-351.
Similarly, Ahmad is writing the appreciation of Halit Narin, the president of TSK (Confederation of
Employers' Unions of Turkey, in the case of junta's arrangements against striking workers. He writes:
On 14 September, strikes were proscribed and striking workers were ordered back to work. This
measure was welcomed by Halit Narin, the president of the Confederation of Employers' Unions of
Turkey, who noted that the end of strikes would be an important step forward in the development of
Turkey's economy (1993: 182).
84
 The characteristics of the neoliberal transformation of 12 September are
also analyzed by Bedirhanolu and Yalman in their article State, Class and the
Discourse (2010: 107-128). The authors argue that [t]he first generation of
neoliberal reforms [was] launched in the country in the early 1980s within a
context of the 1970s world capitalist crisis (2010: 110). They analyze the
speeches and the promises of measures at the beginning of the neoliberal reforms
and the results towards the end of the 1980s. They find that the 24 January 1980
stabilization programme signified a radical change both in the mode of
articulation of the Turkish economy with the world economy and in the nature of
the state-economy relationship prevalent within the social formation, at least
since the end of the Second World War (2010: 112). Ozan indicates that the 24
January measures which aimed to re-structure the economy (export-oriented
strategy) resulted in control over the labour market, bans on strikes and cuts in
wages. Moreover, radical changes which appeared in capital and labour and
suppression of the labour movement [were] the most visible results. This means:
the acquisition of capital in general (2012: 59).
Turkey's neoliberal transformation continued with the politics of zal's
party ANAP (Motherland Party), the first civilian government established after
the general election held in November 1983. Although the general election of
1983 was termed 'civil', the political parties eligible were selected by the junta 35
and only three parties were allowed. One of these parties, MDP (Party of
Nationalist Democracy), was actually established and supported by the military
itself. However, zal's party, ANAP, should not be considered an alternative to
MDP since with its politics and zal's hand-in-glove relations with the military,
ANAP was decisive in applying the changes foreseen by the military36.
Moreover, as previously discussed in detail, zal himself was the brain behind
the desired new liberal economic system. Boratav shows that the ANAP's first
moves were based on political changes aiming to solve some of the general and
common problems of capital: a radical change in the tax system in favour of
capital, the annulment of restrictions regarding the law on saving Turkish money,
and money laundering (2005: 91-92).

35 Some 15 parties were founded, but the military deemed 12 of them unacceptable, even after
several changes had been made to the lists of founders. The obvious successors to Demirel's Justice
Party (the 'Great Turkey Party' and the 'Party of the True Path') and to the Republican People's Party
(the 'Social Democrat Party') were among those banned (Zrcher 2004: 282).
36 On the 1983 election and zal's government, Faroz writes: As a result, power was restored to a
civilian prime minister, Turgut zal, whose party had won the election, and Turkey seemed to be
back on the path to democracy. However, presidential powers, as defined by the 1982 constitution
and exercised by President Kenan Evren, the general who had led the 1980 coup, enabled the armed
forces to continue to supervise political activity. Moreover, martial law was applied long after civilian
rule was restored and was removed only gradually, facilitating military control (1993: 1).
85
4. 4 The revolutionary movement before September 12

So far, I have described the historical background to 12 September in terms of its

political and economic causes and effects on national and global scales. This part
of the chapter will consider the revolutionary movement by focusing on its
historical development in Turkey, its structure, and finally its transnational
characteristics.

4. 4. 1 Origins of the revolutionary movement

From the beginning of the 1950s, the Democrat Party government supported
mechanization in agriculture as arranged by the Marshall Plan agreed between
the US and Turkish governments in 1948.37 Pamuk reports that the DP
government used Marshall Plan aid to finance the importation of agricultural
machinery, especially tractors, whose numbers jumped from less than 10,000 in
1946 to 42,000 at the end of the 1950s (Pamuk 2008: 281). The second
important project of the DP government, following the Marshall Plan, was to
build road networks in the country instead of investing in the railways (the
negative effects of not investing in the railways were to be experienced
especially during the oil crisis of 1973). The short-term effect of agricultural
mechanization was unemployment among the rural population that did not own
any means of production other than their labour. This labour was no longer
needed in the mechanized rural areas and hence the 1950s also witnessed a
dramatic acceleration of rural-to-urban migration in Turkey. Both push and pull
factors were behind this movement, as conditions in rural areas differed widely
across the country. The development of the road network also contributed to the
new mobility (Pamuk 2008: 282). The most visible results of this internal
migration from rural areas to the cities were housing problems in cities, and in
the long term social, cultural, economic and political conflicts generated between
newcomers and the settled urban classes. Bozdoan (2008) emphasizes the
cultural problems generated by the migration of rural classes to the cities:
Perhaps the most enduring legacy of the DP decade is the phenomenal urbanisation unleashed
by massive migration from rural areas and the subsequent growth of squatter settlements
around major cities, Ankara and Istanbul in particular. For the first time, masses of people came
in contact with the ambivalent experiences of modernity. As large migrant populations
encountered the seemingly endless possibilities, lifestyles, aesthetic norms and high cultures of
modern life in cities, they also began to be shaped by a profound awareness of their own
exclusion from these things, preparing the ground for successive social upheavals (Bozdoan
2008: 444-445).

37 See Korkut Boratav, Trkiye ktisat Tarihi: 1908-2009 (2014) for a detailed analysis of the results
of the Marshall Plan in Turkey.
86
Socially and economically, the cities could not satisfy the needs and expectations
of the 'newcomers'. Zrcher (2004) writes that only a minority of the migrants
were able to find regular jobs in the cities, and the majority had to accept
insecure temporary jobs. Moreover, incomes were so low that several family
members had to work to contribute to the family finances. Under these
circumstances, the workforce agreement signed in 1961 with Germany generated
new hopes for many of the unemployed. The mobility of the masses from rural
areas was no longer limited to within the national borders, but first Germany and
later other European countries became attractive. Zrcher recounts the situation:
Many people who had left their ancestral village to go to the city left on an even bigger
adventure during the 1960s. The first Turks to go to work in Germany (in 1957) were graduates
of technical schools on training courses, but from the beginning of the 1960s Turkish workers
started to move to Germany in ever-increasing numbers. In the beginning this movement was
caused by a pull rather than a push factor. Germanys booming industry had an acute labour
shortage from the early 1950s onwards. [...] In Turkey initial reactions to the German
recruitment drive, which began in earnest after a bilateral German-Turkish agreement had been
signed in 1961, were rather hesitant. The first to go to Germany were skilled workers from the
cities, but later recruitment took place increasingly among new city dwellers who had recently
migrated from the countryside (thus establishing a pattern of two-stage migration). Later still,
recruitment took place directly in the provincial towns. The numbers tell their own story: in
1962 there were 13,000 Turkish workers in Germany; by 1970 there were 480,000 and, by
1974, the total had reached 800,000. While the main drift of the migration continued to be to
Germany, Turkish workers also went to Belgium, Holland, France, Switzerland and Britain. By
the end of the 1970s more than 2.5 million Turks were living in Western Europe (Zrcher 2004:
270-271).

The 'massive' migration to big cities which started in the 1950s also meant a
great change in the structure of society: a shift from an agricultural to an
industrial society, which also contributed to the existence of workers as a class.
By the 70s, trade unions such as DSK and Trk- were able to organize strikes
and mass protests all over the country with demands regarding not only workers'
rights but also political rights.38 It is not a coincidence that the socialist party,
which was established by 12 trade union members in 1961, was named the
Workers Party of Turkey (TP Trkiye i Partisi). In the 1964 party
programme of the TP, the aim of the party was defined, in general, as being to
strengthen the struggle of proletarians. 39 The TP played a crucial role for the
future revolutionary parties of the 70s and 80s. The major conflict within the TP
regarding discussions on the strategy for the revolution, over whether it should
be a National Democratic Revolution (Milli Demokratik Devrim, MDD) or a

38 Ozan writes that between the years 1963 and 1971 the total number of strike days was 4,506
which rose to 21,812 between the years 1973 and 1980. Moreover, she writes that in the mid-70s, the
demands of the working class shifted from working hours and wages to the government regulations
regarding war industries, the nationalization of oil and the mining industry (Gzel 1996 in Ozan
2012: 159).
39 See the party programme at: http://sodepgazete.com/?p=795 (accessed 3.04.2013).
87
Socialist Revolution40 soon resulted in various revolutionary groups being
established (Zrcher 2004, Akkaya 2007, Krk 2007). The youth organization
of the TP, FKF (Fikir Kulpleri Federasyonu/Federation of Thought Clubs 1965
also translated as Idea Clubs by Zrcher), was also affected by the discussions
over MDD or a Socialist Revolution, and in 1969 the federation agreed on MDD
and changed its name to Dev-Gen (Revolutionary Youth) (Aykol 2010: 52).
Akkaya writes that towards the end of the 70s, as a result of these disagreements
the revolutionary movement divided into various parties. Socialist parties, such
as TP, SDP, Sosyalist ktidar and the Trotzkysts, who supported the idea of a
Socialist Revolution lost their power, whereas groups defending a National
Democratic Revolution (MDD), namely THKP-C, THKO, TKP/ML and TKP
strengthened their positions (Akkaya 2007: 798). The schisms among the
revolutionary parties continued into the 1970s. The reasons for this
fragmentation were not only connected to different approaches to a
MDD/Socialist Revolution. The revolutionary movement in Turkey cannot be
detached from international dynamics and the major events that took place
between the mid 1950s and the 1980s: the May 68 protests, the Cuban
revolution, revolution in China, the Vietnam war, Enver Hoxha and the
Communist Party in Albania, the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in
1968 definitely affected the politics of the revolutionary movement in Turkey, in
addition to the inner dynamics. Different approaches to these upheavals, among
many others, opened new discussions which were sometimes followed by new
separations and the generation of new revolutionary groups (Akkaya 2007: 801).
According to Hseyin Aykol (2010), there were 48 revolutionary parties between
1971 and 1980.
Contrary to the disunity of the left-wing movement, nationalist and
conservative right-wing politics seemed more united. Ahmad and Zrcher
demonstrate the support provided to the conservative right and nationalist Grey
Wolves by the National Front governments. Ahmad reports that although the role
of the Nationalist Action Party (NAP, Milliyeti Hareket Partisi) in terrorist
activities was detected, the government did not take action. He writes: The
authorities had evidence that the Action Party was the principal source of
violence and the public prosecutor wanted to carry out a full investigation. But
the cabinet would not permit that. Terrorism could not be curbed without
exposing the role of the NAP; but that meant destroying the Front coalition,
something Demirel refused to envisage (Ahmad 1993: 167-168). The NAP,
established by Alparslan Trke in 1969, espoused ethnicity-based nationalist
and 'anti-kommunist' politics which resulted in violent activities by its youth

40 TP defended a socialist revolution which would be made by the proletariat, whereas Mihri Belli
argued in the journal Yn (1962 no; 48) that society in Turkey was still feudal and the conditions of
the working class in Turkey were not yet mature enough to lead a revolution. He therefore suggested
an armed revolutionary movement (Akkaya 2007: 797).
88
organization, the 'Grey Wolves' (Bozkurtlar). 41 Islamist fundamentalists, on the
other hand, organized themselves as the Union of National Trkish Students
(MTTB, Milli Trk Talebe Birlii). Between 1965 and 1980, like the Grey
Wolves, MTTB stated its main principle as being fighting against communism. 42
The debates, inner conflicts and divisions among the revolutionary
movement were also reflected in other European countries, especially in
Germany as a result of the Turkish migrants' interest in their home politics.
Ostergaard-Nielsen writes:
There are thousands of Turkish and Kurdish organizations that form an intricate network
throughout both Germany and the Netherlands. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s the home
away from home social organizations of Turkish guest-workers were increasingly politicized
by movements and parties in Turkey that began sending their information leaflets abroad
asking for political and economic support. The political clashes between the communists and
extreme right-wing nationalists in Turkey had echoes of political strife among the workers
abroad (2002: 267).

The plurality of the revolutionary movement in the 70s, complicates a better

understanding of the structure of the left-wing movement in a work like this
which tries to provide a general perspective. Table at Annex I shows the roots
and lifespans of the revolutionary parties that were active between 1960 and
1980. Later tables (number II, III, and IV in annexes) provide a closer look at
three revolutionary parties, THKP/C, THKO, and TKP/ML, which had massive
support and sympathy in the 70s. It is therefore important to understand the
conditions which generated these parties, their ideologies, their main
figures/leaders, aims and activities, and finally their links with migrant
organizations in Germany. The following section, therefore, provides an
overview of the politics and history of THKP/C, THKO and TKP/ML.

41 Zrcher's analysis shows us how serious and effective the acts of the Grey Wolves were in
creating a violent atmosphere in the country: As well-known as the party itself was its youth
organization, officially called the 'Hearths of the Idal' (lk Ocaklar), whose members called
themselves Bozkurtlar (Grey Wolves), after a figure in pre-Islamic Turkish mythology and who in
December 1968 began a campaign to intimidate leftist students, teachers, publicists, booksellers and,
finally, politicians. The Grey Wolves received paramilitary training in specially designed camps and,
like Hitler's SS, their mission was to conquer the streets (and the campuses) on the left. 257.
Moreover, while describing the violence on the streets and university campuses, Zrcher points out
the unequal position of left- and right-wing groups in the 1970s: The struggle between right and left
was an unequal one. During the Nationalist Front governments of the years between 1974 and 1977,
the police and the security forces had become the exclusive preserve of Trkes NAP, and even under
Ecevits government of 197879, they had remained heavily infiltrated by fascists who shielded and
protected the Grey Wolves. The splinter groups of the left enjoyed no such protection (2004: 263).
42 MTTBs principles and activities are listed on its web page http ://www .mttb .org .tr/? page_id
=86 (accessed 06.02.2012).
89
4. 4. 2 THKP/C: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Parti-Cephesi (People's Liberation
Party-Front of Turkey)

The People's Liberation Party-Front of Turkey was established at the beginning

of the 1970s, after internal conflicts in the TP and FKF (resulting from the
debates over a National Democratic Revolution or a Socialist Revolution), by
Mahir ayan and his friends, Yusuf Kpeli, Mnir Ramazan Aktolga, Ula
Bardak, Erturul Krk, rfan Uar and Hseyin Cevahir (Please see Annex II
for the table showing the roots and lifespan of the THKP/C Movement). THKP/C
was the first revolutionary movement in Turkey based on propaganda for an
armed struggle (Akkaya 2007, Kozakl 2007, Krk 2007, Aykol 2010, ener
2010). ayan argued that a guerrilla war in rural areas should support the
revolutionary movement, which would succeed in leading the proletariat and
continuing its ideological and political fight (Akkaya, 2007: 803). ayan's
analysis was based on the third crisis of imperialism and the necessity of
combining the two processes of evolution and revolution; agitation and armed
guerrilla fight (Krk 2007: 499). Krk writes that the revolutionaries started
their propaganda for an armed struggle after violent counter guerrilla attacks
which were supported by the US (2007: 494-495). In fact, during the AP
government in 1968-69, some groups were given support to avoid the revolts
and were later named counter guerrilla groups. These groups' activities were
regulated by 'Field Manual 31-15', adopted by the US Army in 1964. This
manual defined the cooperation between the Turkish military forces and NATO
and the US to stop revolutionary movements, in their terms the inner enemies,
by using the methods of killings, bombings, armed robberies, torture, injuries,
terror and agitation through kidnapping (Krk 2007: 495).
Besides theoretical discussions,43 soon, in 1971, THKP/C started a guerrilla
war with the kidnapping of the Israeli consul-general Efraim Elrom in May 1971.
Later, in 1972, THKP/C militants kidnapped three technicians who were working
at the NATO Radar Station in nye, a small town on the Black Sea Coast, and
held them ransom for the release of captured THKO leaders. Many of the
founders, including Mahir ayan, were killed in March 1972 in a battle with
soldiers (Aykol 2010: 55). After the death of its leaders, THKP/C divided into
several other revolutionaries groups, among which Dev-Yol (Revolutionary Path)
soon received sympathy from the masses. Pekdemir reports that the Dev-Yol
journal, named Devrimci Yol had a circulation of about 150,000 (2008: 743).
Agreeing with the main theories and strategies of THKP/C, Dev-Yol aimed for a
mass movement organized in all districts of Turkey (Pekdemir 2008: 745).
Between the establishment of the organization and the coup in 1980, although
armed struggle was accepted as its strategy, Dev-Yol did not carry out any armed

43 See the edited volume Btn Yazlar (Eri Yaynlar; stanbul 2003) for the articles Mahir ayan
wrote in the years 1970-71, when he was engaged in guerrilla warfare.
90
action as the previous leaders of THKP/C had done. After a local election in a
small town on the Black Sea Coast, Fatsa, in 1979, the new mayor Fikri Snmez,
a Dev-Yol member, organized committees to include people in the local
decision-making processes. The situation was interpreted as communist
occupation by the AP government and in July 1980, despite statements by both
left- and right-wing parties from Fatsa, the military forces carried out an
operation.44 According to Zrcher,
Whole neighbourhoods, especially in the squatter towns, came under the control of one or the
other of the competing groups and were declared liberated areas. The most famous example
was the small Black Sea town of Fatsa, where a left-wing mayor and his supporters officially
repudiated the authority of the government and proclaimed an independent Soviet republic.
Eventually, this peculiar experiment was ended when the troops were sent in (2004: 264).

In contrast to Zrcher's interpretation that the mayor and his supporters

proclaimed an 'independent Soviet Republic', there is no such an evidence to
support his argument. No such statement exists (or is even mentioned) regarding
Fatsa in Dev-Yol's own party journal, Devrimci Yol. Additionally, in the analysis
of the leaders of the movement, Fatsa is considered one of the most important
experiences for the revolutionary movement in general, and particularly for Dev-
Yol, which was only established in 1977, of realizing their power to mobilize
people in towns.45 Fatsa encouraged the revolutionaries in terms of
understanding the support of local people (resistance committees) and their
willingness to become involved in the revolutionary movement. However, this
experience seems far from having been an 'independent republic', but only a
'liberated area', which was quite possible in the 70s even in big city districts for
both left-wing groups and right-wing nationalist groups.
After the military coup in 1980, some small Dev-Yol groups started a
guerrilla war on the Blacksea Coast, in the Aegean region and in southeast
Anatolia; some went into exile; and about 4403 members were put on trial
(Aykol 2010: 76-77). The Dev-Yol trial became one of the symbols of 12
September and the justice of the junta institutions. The trial lasted thirty years,
and due to the huge number of defendants for some cases stadiums were used as
courts.
Aykol writes that in 1982, the Anti-Fascist United Resistance Front

44 See Dev-Yol's web page on Fatsa and Fikri Snmez: http:// www .devrimciyol .org/ Devrimci%
20Yol /unutulmayacaklar/Unutma/1980ler/FSonmez.html (accessed 7.04.2013).
45 Ouzhan Mftolu, one of the leaders of Dev-Yol, has recently written an article regarding the
Fatsa experience: http:// www .birgun .net/ politics _index .php? news_ code= 1365321733 &year=
2013& month= 04&day=07 . Another analysis of Fatsa can be found in: Ouzhan Mftolu,
Devrimci Yol zerine Notlar; Sosyalizm ve Toplumsal Mcadeleler Ansiklopedisi, Cilt 7, s. 2250-
2254. In addition, one day before the military intervention in Fatsa, the daily newspaper Milliyet
reported that its journalists had visited the town and observed a quite peaceful atmosphere (Milliyet
10.07.1980, p.6).
91
(Faizme Kar Birleik Direni Cephesi) was established abroad (2010: 77).
According to research by Germany's Federal Office for the Protection of the
Constitution (Bundesamt fr Verfassungsshutz) Dev-Yol was active in Germany
from 1984 under the name of the journal Devrimci i (Trkische
Linksextremistische Organisationenin Deutschland 2007, 15). However,
Devrimci i had been published and circulated in West Germany before the
coup, in 1978. Assuming that the homeland politics were reflected in the
migrants in West Germany, Dev-Yol already had militants and sympathizers
before the exile of the Turkey-based revolutionaries. In articles published in the
fifth issue of Devrimci i in 1979,46 the supporters interest in the revolutionary
movement in Turkey (particularly Dev-Yol's activities) and in politics in general
in Turkey is visible. In addition, the articles focus on the revolutionary
movement in Germany, the involvement of migrants in the movement, and
cooperation with other revolutionary organizations, including in other European
countries, for example the Netherlands. An article entitled Experiences of an
Anti-Fascist Initiative Committee against Turkish Fascists in Berlin (Berlin'de
Trk Faistlerine Kar nisiyatif Komitesi Deneyimleri) discusses the attacks
against democratic organizations and 'democrats' on 4 May 1979. It states that
the Anti-Fascist Committee, in return, protested at the event Captive Turks
organized by nationalist migrants from Turkey on 14 July 1979. In the same
issue, an announcement regarding the establishment of Trkiye Demokratik i
Genlik Dernei (TDG-Der, Democratic Workers' and Youth Organization of
Turkey) in Dsseldorf, clearly states its support for Dev-Yol.

4. 4. 3 Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Ordusu (People's Liberation Army of

Turkey):THKO

The history of the People's Liberation Army of Turkey (THKO) can be

summarized in four phases: its establishment; its restructuring into Liberation of
the People (Halkn Kurtuluu); establishment of the Trkiye Devrimci Komnist
Partisi (Revolutionary Communist Party Turkey-TDKP) in 1980; and transition
to a legal parliamentary struggle with the establishment of Emek Partisi (Labour
Party) in 1996 (For a detailed table, please see the Annex III). Here, I will try to
provide a general picture of the first three phases of the organizations history,
followed by an account of its members' activities in Europe, particularly in
Germany.
THKO was established on 4 March 1971 by leaders of the student
movement Deniz Gezmi, Cihan Alptekin, Hseyin nan, Yusuf Aslan, Sinan
Cemgil, Alpaslan zdoan who were active in FKF (Fikir Kulpleri

46 Some issues of the Devrimci i journal are available online: http:// www. Devrimciisci .net/
htmls/ sayilarzemin.html (accessed 7.04.2013).
92
Federasyonu/Federation of Thought), Dev-Gen, and the Revolutionary Student
Organization (Devrimci renci Birlii DB). ubuku relates that the idea of
establishing a new organization was generated during guerrilla training in
Palestine in the years 1969-1971 (2008: 724). In establishing THKO, the aim
was to expand the revolutionary struggle from a students' movement to a
movement of the people, including workers and peasants. Accordingly, THKO
did not aim to take the form of a political party, but rather it was formed as a
military organization and was particularly efficient in the rural parts of eastern
Anatolia (Akkaya 2007: 803). Its declaration of establishment, entitled The
Voice of the People's Liberation Army of Turkey states that the THKO aims to
strengthen an armed guerrilla struggle from rural areas to the cities, which is 'the
only way for liberty and revolution' (Akkaya 2007: 804). The first activities of
the organization were, however, bank robberies and the abduction of US Army
members for ransom in order to provide a source of the finance needed for the
guerrilla struggle (Grr 2007). These actions, in addition to the financial aid,
resulted in recognition of the organization by the masses and raised sympathy
towards its armed struggle. Soon after the 12 March military coup d'tat in 1971
many members and leaders of the THKO were arrested. During their
imprisonment, Hseyin nan wrote Trkiye Devriminin Yolu (Revolutionary Path
of Turkey), which sets out the main principles of THKO. After the execution of
three leaders Deniz Gezmi, Hseyin nan and Yusuf Aslan who became
symbols of the revolutionary movement for the coming generations on 6 May
1972 until the political amnesty declared in 1974, THKO remained inactive.
The released members of THKO assembled to reconstruct the organization
in 1974 and started to publish the weekly journal named Liberation of the People
(Halkn Kurtuluu) in 1976, which had a circulation of about 50,000 (Aykol
2010: 75; ubuku 2008: 733). Until the establishment of Trkiye Devrimci
Komnist Partisi (Revolutionary Communist Party Turkey TDKP) in February
1980, the group was named after the journal Liberation of the People. ubuku
reports that the main principle of Liberation of the People was summarized in its
motto Jobs for everyone, lands for peasants, freedom for people47 and the
group's illegal newspaper Yolda/Heval (published in both Turkish and Kurdish)
had a circulation of about 20,000 (2008: 729). The high circulation numbers of
both the legal and illegal journals of Liberation of the People and Yolda/Heval
(The Comrade) also show the growing sympathy towards the revolutionary
movement of the 70s after the execution of three young leaders by the junta. In
particular, the youth organization of Liberation of the People, Yurtsever
Devrimci Genlik Dernekleri Federasyonu (Federation of Patriotic
Revolutionary Youth Organizations YDGDF) had over 50,000 members
(ubuku 2008: 733).
During the process of establishment of a political party, TDKP, until 12

47 In Turkish, the motto is as follows: Herkese i, kylye toprak, halka hrriyet.

93
September the members concentrated on the worker's movement, and organized
and supported strikes, protests and the occupation of factories.48 As with the
other legal and illegal parties, all the activities of the TDKP, such as publishing
and distributing any kind of manifestos, brochures or journals were banned by
the junta regime. Many members were arrested, and in April 1981 the executive
members of the central committee were arrested. Due to these developments,
TDKP continued its agitation and propaganda by publishing the illegal journal
Devrimin Sesi (The Voice of the Revolution) in Turkey, while its party activities
were carried on by its members and sympathizers abroad.
Militants and sympathizers of TDKP were involved in legal organizations
which supported the workers' struggle in West Germany. In December 1980,
shortly before the establishment of TDKP, militants established the Federation of
Democratic Workers Organizations (Demokratik i Dernekleri Federasyonu
DDF) in Cologne, Germany. DDF, despite its links with the THKO tradition,
focused on the workers' movement and held legal activities among the young,
women, and trade unions. In its brochure, the main principle of the organization
is explained as being to form an opposition against division and isolation of the
proletarians based on ethnicity and religious differences (DIDF 2011: 1).
Germany's Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution (Bundesamt fr
Verfassungsshutz) reports that by December 2006 DDF had 35 branches with
about 600 supporters in Germany (Trkische Linksextremistische
Organisationenin Deutschland 2007: 14). According to the Office, a few TDKP
militants have continued their activities, and the party's journal The Voice of
Revolution is still being published in Germany (Trkische Linksextremistische
Organisationenin Deutschland 2007: 17).

4. 4. 4 TKP/ML: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist (Communist Party

of Turkey/Marxist Leninist)

The TKP/ML was established in February 1972, based on brahim Kaypakkaya's

analysis of south-eastern and eastern Anatolia and his views on the Maoist theory
of semi-feudalism (phases of the TKP/ML is shown at Annex IV). The founders
of the TKP/ML argued that the revolutionary movement should mobilise the
peasants instead of the proletariat and armed guerrilla struggle should support the
people's war (Kaypakkaya 2004). Therefore, the TKP/ML structured its own
armed guerrilla organization, TKKO (Trkiye i Kyl Kurtulu Ordusu
Turkish Workers and Peasants Liberation Army), which was active in Eastern

48 One of the prominent acts of TDKP members was the organization and support of a strike and
resistance at TAR factories in zmir. The resistance of the workers against the oppressive regime of
the new nationalist management started on 22 January 1980 and ended on 17 February 1980 after a
battle with armed forces.
94
Anatolia, especially in the region of Dersim. The distinctive feature in
Kaypakkaya's theory was not only his adaptation of the Maoist analysis of
feudalism and the people's war, but he also had a distinct view of Kemalism.
Unlike the former revolutionaries, Kaypakkaya argued that Kemalism was not an
anti-imperialist revolution, but was rather a reconciliation with imperialism and
admittance of semi-colonialism which oppressed the proletariat and peasants in
support of the bourgeoisie (Kaypakkaya 2004: 84).
During the militants' agitation and propaganda activities in the rural parts of
eastern Anatolia, Kaypakkaya and his comrades were besieged in Dersim on 24
January 1973. One of the leaders of TKKO, Ali Haydar Yldz, was killed, and
three days later Kaypakkaya was found in a village. From his arrest on 27
January until the time he was killed under torture on 18 May 1973 he was kept at
Diyarbakr Prison. He became a myth for his followers and was sympathized
with by other revolutionary militants because he withstood the torture and
resisted against collaborating and had to pay the price for his comrades with his
own life. Although some groups separated from the party after Kaypakkaya's
death, TKP/ML and TKKO continued with their agitation and propaganda
activities until quite recent times.
The TKP/ML and TKKO militants who went into exile in Europe after the
1980 military coup and their sympathizers among the Turkish and Kurdish
migrant workers supported the party activities through several legal and illegal
organizations and publications (Aykol 2010: 62). In particular, commemorations
are organized in memory of brahim Kaypakkaya on 18 May in many German
cities every year. According to Germany's Federal Office for the Protection of the
Constitution, in 2006 two factions of TKP/ML, Partizan and MKP, had a total of
1300 members (2007: 11). Moreover, the activities of the legal umbrella
organization ATK (Avrupa Trkiyeli iler Konfederasyonu Confederation of
Workers from Turkey Europe), which was established in 1986, are followed by
many in England, France, Austria, Switzerland, the Netherlands and Germany.
Germany's Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution states that the
commemorations held in 2006 were visited by a total of 8100 participants. We
can assume that many TKP/ML militants went into exile in Europe, particularly
in Germany after the 1980 military coup d'tat, but, like the other revolutionary
organizations, TKP/ML had an influence on Turkish migrants in Germany long
before the military coup took place. The brother organization to TKP/ML in
Germany, ATF (Almanya Trkiyeli iler Federasyonu Federation of Workers
from Turkey-Germany), which later constituted the ATK together with the other
federations, was established in 1976.49

49 See the ATK web page for more information on the activities of the member federations and their
historical backgrounds: http://www.atik-online.net/
95
5. Memory in practice

We live in a world surrounded by images, symbols and icons, and either

intentionally or not practise rituals in our daily lives. We start to learn the
symbolic meanings of objects and the actions of people in the community we
live in from an early age. The social frameworks we are involved in construct,
transfer, and reconstruct these symbolic meanings of things. Most of the time, it
is natural for us to accept those icons and rituals and not question them. It is a
comfort for the members of a group to practise them, since the very basic
function of ritual action, myths and icons is to strengthen our ties with the group
we belong to, and hence provide solidarity and continuity. Symbolic objects and
rituals are not only crucial to collective identity and consciousness, but they also
help to distinguish us from others. In other words, through certain sacred
images, objects, words and actions, we are able to construct who we are, and also
who we are not.
Because of their power over collective thought, symbols, myths and rituals
which are frequently practised at commemorations and other ceremonies such as
anniversaries are essential for collective memory. An object, a person, a place or
in some cases an activity for some people is not simply present with its material
presence; rather it embodies, represents and transfers the beliefs, thoughts, and
emotions of the group, and hence is sacred. The meaning that is embedded in
these objects or places changes as the groups beliefs, values and notions change.
Therefore, it is crucial to understand how symbols, myths and icons are
practised, as well as how they are being constructed.
In this chapter, I will discuss the characteristics of commemorations and
anniversaries regarding 12 September, as well as images and objects which have
symbolic meanings. The first part mainly focuses on the relation between
memory and space. Through an examination of two museums, the Ulucanlar
Prison Museum and the 12 September Shame Museum, I elaborate on the
production of memory places. The second part focuses on the question of how
symbols, myths and rituals are being reconstructed and practised by the
revolutionaries in Turkey and Germany, what the main characteristics of the
commemorative ceremonies are, how they differ, and how the main discourse of
the ceremonies is affected by changing social, economic and political structures.

5. 1 The production of the memory places

Although Halbwachs (1950) underlines the indispensability of space for

remembering the past, far too little attention has been paid to the production of

97

E. Karacan, Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military Coup dtat,

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9_5, Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
space and its undeniable role in collective memory. In this section I will argue
and empirically illustrate that the production of memory places is not free of a
groups recent experiences with power relations. To understand the significance
of places produced for memory, I focus on the reconstruction of the past by
different groups regarding the 1980 military coup dtat in Turkey. Assuming
that space, like memory, is continually produced by social relations, two
museums in Ankara, Turkey the Ulucanlar Prison Museum and the 12
September Shame Museum will be analyzed in detail. By focusing on the
commonalities, contradictions and rhetoric of production of these memory
places, this part of the thesis demonstrates the role of those remembering in the
production of space, and the role of the places produced in reconstructing the
past.

5. 1. 1 The spatial framework of memory

One of the most widely-employed phenomena to understand memory is space

accompanied by time. Whether taken as a technique called ars memorativa, or as
a phenomenon internal to individuals, or a social construction constantly
regenerated through the changing interests of groups, or as a cultural
phenomenon, memory cannot be understood without including its spatial
framework. Space, in simple terms provides a physical surrounding where
memory can be restored, preserved and represented. The remembrance of past
events is realized through objects that are placed in a spatial order.
Reducing the spatial framework to its material characteristics is, however,
oversimplifying its relation to memory. Space itself is a social construction, a
product of social relations which embodies memory to be reconstructed and
practised. Similarly, the things surrounding us, as they exist within these
constructed spaces, are indispensable devices of collective memory. Members of
groups not only share common ideas, desires, interests and thoughts but also
share a common place constructed both physically and socially, which in turn
reconstructs the collective memory of the group. Therefore, Halbwachs, in his
seminal work The Collective Memory, writes that every collective memory
unfolds within a spatial framework (1950: 140). Thus, space bears dual
characteristics in relation to memory: first, the material meaning, in which it
provides a place where memory is stored and preserved; and second, the social
meaning of remembrance of the past, the process of unfolding and practising
memory or reconstructing it, which is only possible within the socially produced
space. Commemorations, rituals, memorials, monuments and all the devices of
the collective memory exist in a spatial and temporal framework which is
constructed socially, historically and politically. Yet, Lefebvre (1991) warns
social researchers not to fall into the trap of thinking of space as an empty frame

98
which contains objects, or reducing it to an object itself. He suggests that space
should be considered as a product of social relations. Similar to Halbwachs
theory of collective memory as a continuing process of reconstructing, Lefebvre
views space as being continuously produced through social relations and
comments that:
[S]pace is neither a mere frame, after the fashion of the frame of a painting, nor a form or
container of a virtually neutral kind designed simply to receive whatever is poured into it.
Space is social morphology: it is to a lived experience what form itself is to the living
organism, and just as intimately bound up with function and structure. To picture space as a
frame or container into which nothing can be put unless it is smaller than the recipient, and to
imagine that this container has no other purpose than to preserve what has been put in it this
is probably the initial error (1991: 93-94).

Museums, although presenting a static display of the past, should not be

considered containers which are abstracted from their historical and social roots.
Together with landscapes and heritage, and especially in cases of the
embodiment and display of the memory of violence, museums are the basis for
reconstructing the past on the grounds that the memory of violence is not only
embedded in peoples bodies and minds but also inscribed onto space in all kinds
of settings: memorials, religious shrines, border zones or the natural
environment (Schramm 2011: 5). If, as Young (1993: 7) argues, memorials and
museums, just like narratives which locate events in linear sequence, require a
cognitive order, is it possible for us to understand the reconstruction of the past
by focusing on the order, and the consciousness of the narrator who is in
charge of reconstructing the memory place?
Thus, I will discuss the reconstruction of the memory of violence within
spaces to understand the differences and similarities in the way different groups
counter to the state authorities remember the past. Explicitly, by putting a special
emphasis on structural and discursive aspects, I focus on the social, political and
historical dynamics of reconstructions of the 12 September 1980 military coup
dtat by the Ulucanlar Prison Museum and the 12 September Shame Museum,
both in Ankara, Turkey. First, I will analyse the active subjects of the act of
remembering and examine the characteristics of their perspectives towards the
past in keeping with the historical backgrounds of the two places. Afterwards, I
will discuss the similar and conflicting features of the museums with regard to
the concepts of memory places (victimization, sacralisation, authenticity,
familiarity, and selectivity) which emerge in the production of memory places
and other commemorative practices, as shown in the previous section.
The date of 12 September 1980 has been referred to as a milestone in
Turkish history, not only in studies of the history, political system and
economics of modern Turkey, but also in ones of fine arts and culture.
Specifically in the domains of literature, cinema and music the events
surrounding 12 September 1980 are considered to mark an end of a certain
99
understanding and the beginning of a new era. Therefore, the phrase 12
September, despite having been created to refer to the coup, is neither limited to
this day that the military overthrew the government, nor to the beginning of the
junta period that lasted until 1983, but rather it is used as blanket term to refer to
structural changes that occurred in Turkish society. As emphasized several times,
although the junta period ended in 1983, the 1982 constitution continues to exist
with minor alterations. Recently, after the referendum in 2010 revising certain
parts of the constitution, members of the junta could be taken to court. Despite
doubts regarding the independence of the court, the trials gave rise to public
debates about 12 September and projected multiple memories onto opposing
groups in society, most prominently the official memory and that of the
revolutionaries. After thirty years, attempts to confront the past of 12 September
brought victims, witnesses and perpetrators face to face on the stage again and
led to a new battle fought on (and for) memory. 50 The battle on the sites of
memory of 12 September appears to be vital for the recent conservative right-
wing Islamist AKP government and for the revolutionaries of the 78 generation
to reconstruct the past from their own perspectives. This can be observed in the
production of the Ulucanlar Prison Museum and the 12 September Shame
Museum.

5. 1. 2 Ulucanlar Prison Museum

Ulucanlar Prison was established in 1925 in Ankara and was the first modern
prison of the Republic of Turkey. The prison covered 34,000 square meters in
Ulucanlar, which was at that time a district outside the city. A few decades later
it became one of the most densely populated quarters within the city, due to the
fast growth of Ankara. The Parliaments human rights monitoring commission
reports that the prison had 19 wings in its open and closed sections, including
womens wings and a childrens wing, and hosted a total of 776 prisoners as of
September 1999.51

50 Confronting the past in contemporary Turkey is not limited to the events surrounding the 12
September. In recent years there have been numerous studies on collective memory and confrontation
with the past concerning the Armenian massacres, the events of September 6-7 1955, the Dersim
massacre and the massacres of Alewite civilians in the cities of Mara, orum, and Sivas. Most of
these studies are oral history studies based on the biographical narratives of the survivors and
witnesses, which bring the voice of the oppressed to the forefront again. In addition, academic works
dealing with the concepts of collective memory and theories of remembering in general contribute to
the debates on memory practices, the politics of memory and forgetting. See: Mithat Sancar,
Confronting the Past: From the Culture of Forgetting to the Culture of Remembrance, letiim
Yaynlar: stanbul, 2007 and The Politics of Public Memory in Turkey, ed. Esra zyrek, Syracuse
University Press: Syracuse, New York, 2007).
51 The report of the Human Rights Monitoring commission can be seen at: http:/ /www .tbmm .gov
.tr / komisyon/insanhaklari/belge/ulucanlar.pdf (accessed 10.03.2013).
100
 The symbolic meaning of the prison arose from the opposition politicians,
activists and intellectuals who were imprisoned there in the different periods of
its history, which lasted for 81 years. In addition to its well-known prisoners,
executions and riots in this prison have deeply marked Turkish history, the best
known being a revolt in the childrens wing in 1976 and a riot of political
prisoners in 1999. The significance of the prison for the 78 generation lies in the
1972 executions of the leaders of the 68 revolutionary movement, namely Deniz
Gezmi, Hseyin nan and Yusuf Aslan, as well as other executions and the
imprisonment of many revolutionaries during the junta regime. Therefore, the
prison (and its contents; wall paintings, gallows, the personal belongings of the
executed revolutionaries) is a sacred memory place. Pictures of the prison
(Figure I) as exhibited at the Shame Museum show the revolutionaries desire to
remember this place untouched and with all the painful images and ugliness
with which they were familiar from their experience of the place.

Figure I Ulucanlar Prison as exhibited in the 12 September Shame Museum.

(Photo is taken by the author at the Shame Museum Exhibition.)

After the closure of the prison in July 2006, it was given heritage status by
the Ministry of Culture. The building was renovated and transformed into a
prison museum and culture and art centre in 2010, following a protocol signed by
the Ministry of Justice, Altnda Municipality, the Ankara Bar Association and
the Chamber of Architects.52 The official institutions which transformed the

52 Despite the protocol signed with regard to the renovation of the Ulucanlar Prison and construction
of the Prison Museum, the Chamber of Architects in Ankara announced that due to conflicting
perspectives towards the history of the prison, cooperation with the Altnda municipality has not
101
Ulucanlar Prison into a museum insist on its historical meaning as a prison with
a special emphasis on famous prisoners, such as the prime ministers, authors,
poets and politicians who spent some of their prison terms there during
Ulucanlars 81-year history as a detention centre. In doing this, the Ulucanlar
Prison Museum supports the state institutions will to represent a homogeneous
narrative of the anti-democratic actions of past governments without any
particular focus on any specific period or event. As Schramm argues, landscapes
are consciously interpreted as well as manipulated by various actors and may
thus, indeed, be associated with outwardly political or ideological perspectives,
especially if we deal with the memory of violence (2011: 10). Thus, the past of
Ulucanlar Prison is manipulated, even in some cases totally destroyed, by
applying strategies of exclusion and ignorance of revolutionary riots, or the
imprisonment of Kurdish members of parliament, to invent a tradition based on
a discourse of victimization of the recent conservative right-wing government.

5. 1. 3 12 September Shame Museum

The 12 September Shame Museum is an annual temporary exhibition that takes

place during the commemoration week of 12 September at the Ankara
Contemporary Art Centre (CAC) in a wealthy district surrounded by embassies,
stylish restaurants, cafs and shops. The centre was established in 1998 by
ankaya Municipality to provide a venue for art and cultural events. The CAC
consists of four floors and a conference room with a capacity of 216. The
building is used for art exhibitions, concerts, film festivals and conferences.
The Revolutionary 78s Federation, established in Ankara in 2001 by
witnesses and survivors of the 1980 coup, instituted the 12 September
commemoration activities under the name of 12 September Shame Museum in
the CAC in 2010, despite the fact that the building itself lacks the symbolic and
historical associations which are essential for a memory place. In their call to the
public, the members of the Revolutionary 78s Federation announced their
intention to establish a museum to display the crimes of the 1980s junta and to
construct a collective memory of the military coup. In their announcement, they
invited everyone to contribute to this museum by providing objects such as
prisoners letters, bloodstained shirts, illegal publications from thirty years ago,
photos, prisoners stories, blindfolds, lost films, photos of those who had been
executed, songs and marches composed by the prisoners, court records, case

been possible. In a documentary film on the museums reconstruction, Ulucanlar: The Great
Reckoning, members of the chamber claim that the renovations made by the municipality destroyed
the authenticity of the prison and therefore the Chamber withdrew from further involvement in the
proposed protocol.
102
files, family memoirs and political defences. 53 This announcement demonstrates
their wish to represent the past of the 1980s coup with the juntas crimes against
the left without limitation to any one specific city or one specific place, but with
a special focus on the pain and distress caused. The Revolutionary 78s
Federation, faced with the absence of a memory place, such as the prisons,
schools and dormitories used as torture centres by the junta, re-invents its own
space each year. Their attempt to re/create a presence out of absence (Schramm
2011: 10) is therefore undertaken using the objects and the narratives presented,
rather than the place in which the events happened. This raises the questions of
how the narrative(s) of the 12 September Shame Museum are structured in the
process of re/creating, and how it differs from or is similar to the Ulucanlar
Museum, which has the advantage of the presence of the myths and symbols of
a memory place.

5. 1. 4 Production of memory places

In the creation of both the Ulucanlar Prison Museum and the 12 September
Shame Museum, the past is re-constructed through the distinct understandings of
the groups involved towards the past. These two museums reflect interpretations
of past events as they are perceived by survivors and witnesses, and by the
actors recent political perspectives, in order to provide a homogeneous
perception of the past and strengthen the collective identity. The 78s Federation
focuses on the crimes of the junta with a discourse of victimization (particularly
of left-wing groups), and strives for recognition of what was suffered, whereas
the Ulucanlar Prison Museum aims to construct an archive covering the 81-year
history of the prison without any particular focus on the junta period or its crimes
against revolutionaries. The prominent element of the Ulucanlar Prison Museum
is the place in relation to its history, whereas for the 12 September Shame
Museum the dominant theme is the narrative of the juntas injustice and guilt. As
a result, the Ulucanlar Prison Museum is limited by place and time; it can only
recollect and exhibit events, documents and photos related to the history of the
place. In other words, although a museum functions from the inside out, the
Ulucanlar Prison Museums concept is limited within the confines of the space
(Linenthal 1994: 407), whereas the 12 September Shame Museum is only limited
by time: it undertakes remembrance activities to construct a memory of the 1980
military coup, but spatially it is flexible. Prisons all around the country and other
state institutions where persecutions, arrests and shootings took place are all
subjects of the Shame Museum. Neither the fact that it is temporary nor its

53 The announcement of the Revolutionary 78s Federation is accessible on their web page:
http://www.78liler.org/78web/default.asp?Sayfa=KoseYazari&yazid=33&id=150 (accessed 9 April
2012).
103
discontinuity of place reduce the importance of this memory practice which is
directly maintained by the victims, witnesses, survivors and their family
members. From the Ulucanlar Prison Museum arise disputes over memories of
violence at sacred places, whereas the 12 September Shame Museum is made
sacred by the memory of violence itself (Landres and Stier in Schramm 2011:
7).

5. 1. 5 Destruction of authenticity and the beautification of brutal violence

In his seminal article; The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,
Benjamin writes:
[e]ven the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in
time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be. This unique existence
of the work of art determined the history to which it was subject throughout the time of its
existence. This includes the changes which it may have suffered in physical condition over the
years as well as the various changes in its ownership (1969: 220).

In preserving remains from the Second World War, e.g. German Nazi
concentration camps, ruined buildings and landscapes, the main idea has been to
restore and preserve these places to prevent the destruction of their authenticity.
It appears to be commonly acknowledged that the ruins should be preserved
without any attempts to beautify them, since the aim is to represent the traumatic
past as closely as possible as it was experienced by the victims and survivors.
Every intervention in the means of memory, either in good faith or as a tool of
political oppression, first destroys the basic grounds of memory: interlinked
familiarity and authenticity.
Familiarity is essential for the occurrence of remembrance. Every radical
break in history appears together with the destruction of the symbols and rituals
of the previous eras and the invention of new ones. New invented myths and
symbols emerge to legitimize the new system. However, even these newly
invented traditions contain traces of the old ones with which society is already
familiar.54 Only in the comfort of the familiarity of the things that surround the
members of groups can remembrance practices be realized. Concerning the
importance of familiarity for remembrance, Halbwachs raises the questions
[w]hy does a person become attached to objects? Why does he wish that they
would never change and would always keep him company? (1950: 128-129). In

54 Eric Hobsbawm (1983) writes that traditions which appear or claim to be old are often quite
recent in origin and sometimes invented. Paul Connerton (1989), however, argues that even these
new invented traditions were based on the rites of ancient times. He states that inventing rites was
quite common in modern Europe between 1870 and 1914. For instance, Royal Jubilees, Bastille
Day, and the Internationale, the Olympic Games, the Cup Final and the Tour de France: all seek to
restore in a new form the celebration of the exemplary recurrent.
104
his account, peoples need to be attached to things is generated first by the fact
that the nature of objects makes them able to bear the marks of the past. Second,
things are the images that help to construct commonalities and social
distinctions, and suggest the social type or category of the humans who live in
that framework (Halbwachs 1950: 129). Lastly, the objects surrounding us have
a meaning [which could be] easily interpreted. As members of groups, or the
groups as a whole, are likely to show changes over time and may adopt new
perspectives relating to their common past, the meanings given to surrounding
objects and to space can also show changes in the reality of present time. In other
words, reconstruction of the past, which entails an interpretation of the meanings
of things, is not a finished static solid thing; rather it is a continuing process, or,
as understood by ancient people, like wax that can be moulded and remoulded
over and over. However, if the attempt to reconstruct the past does not derive
from group members but instead is imposed on them by an oppressive external
power, these attempts can lead to conflict.
Authenticity becomes an issue in terms of preserving mnemonic landscapes,
or cultural heritage, since the destructive effects of nature cannot be easily
controlled or entirely stopped. In her article on Oradour-sur-Glane (France),
Sarah Bennett Farmer (1995) analyses efforts to preserve the landscape to
commemorate the massacre carried out by SS soldiers on 10 June 1944. After
describing the historical background to the event, she analyses the attempts to
preserve the landscape as a whole with the ruins, a memorial and the cemetery
without destroying the authenticity of the village. She writes:
It is in the nature of most commemorative efforts to claim that the memorial and its message
are eternal and unchanging. The memorial is meant to stand as a statement about the past
which will forever be apprehended in the way its creators intended. In the case of Oradour, this
is expressed through the attempt to freeze time and to keep the material traces of the massacre
exactly as they were the day after the massacre. The ruins were reinforced and preserved as a
bulwark against forgetting. But, despite these efforts, the ruins by their nature perishable
are inexorably wearing away under the impact of time and weather (Farmer 1995: 42).

War memorials erected later are less adequate at representing a traumatic past
than presenting the actual ruins of a traumatic event. Andreas Huyssen (2003)
argues that the memory boom shown by the rise in the number of war memorials
in Germany since the 1980s results from a fear of oblivion rather than a will to
remember. Building more new monuments does not help confrontation with the
past; in fact it promotes forgetting. Absence is as visible as presence for those
who once experienced the existence of what is missing today. However,
alteration rather than demolition can easily cause discrepancies, thus weakening
the power of mnemonic places.
Although both the Ulucanlar Prison Museum and the Shame Museum
exhibit original objects such as clothes, accessories, documents, letters and
photos of prisoners, they lack the preservation of authenticity. Authenticity in the
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Ulucanlar Prison Museum is reduced to the originality of objects, such as rusty
bunk beds and the exhibition of famous prisoners belongings. However, the
walls of the prison have been repainted, the roof has been completely renewed,
and the ruins are renovated (Figure II).

Figure II Ulucanlar Prison after renovation. (Source:

http://www.ulucanlarcezaevimuzesi.com/default.asp?page=foto&sayfa=deta
y&id=2)

Rather than authenticity, the sacralisation of the memory place through the
discourse of victimization appears to be common to both museums. The
sacralisation of the two museums first comes from the past(s) they narrate, which
is based on the memory of violence, and it is reinforced by the terms victim,
martyr, and innocent. Eschebach defines sacralisation as:
[a] cultural technique for creating sanctity used both by religious institutions and secular social
and political groups of people as a specific form of dealing with historical events. Especially in
the context of catastrophic events like mass murder and wars, processes of sacralization
provide a repertoire of behavior and a vocabulary that in a sense keep these events in check and
place them within a meaningful order seemingly legitimized by a higher power (2011: 134).

Instead of preserving authenticity, greater effort is spent on the imitation of

authenticity. During the renovation work, the womens wing was turned into a
gift shop, the stone flooring was replaced with newer slabs, new blankets and
pillows were put on beds, the prisoners showers were renovated and decorated
with new traditional hammam clothes and, overall, a nice new look was given to

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the museum (Figure III). Even the gallows which were used for the executions of
the main figures of the revolutionary movements of the 1968 and 1978
generation have been renewed. Because of the symbolic meaning of the gallows,
the 78s Federation protests against their renovation by the Ulucanlar Prison
Museum and argues that they should be exhibited at the Shame Museum. Despite
the 78s Federation expending great efforts, the management of the Ulucanlar
Prison Museum refused the federations demand and they even put the gallows
behind a security fence. To fill the gap of the symbolic meaning of the missing
gallows, the Revolutionary 78s Federation constructed new gallows to exhibit in
their own museum during their week-long commemorations of 12th September
(Figure IV).

Figure III The bathroom (Hammam) in the Ulucanlar Prison after the
restoration (photo by the author).

Following Lefebvre, I argue that the Ulucanlar Prison Museum is a

strategic space which seeks to impose itself as reality despite the fact that it is an
abstraction, albeit one endowed with enormous powers because it is the locus
and medium of Power (1991: 94). By placing wax mannequins and model rats
in cells, the reality of the Ulucanlar Prison is transformed into a stage play.
Similarly, the Revolutionary 78s Federation uses human-shaped wooden figures
to show the way the prisoners were tortured (Figures V and VI). The Ulucanlar
Prison Museum has even constructed a fake cell for visitors who want to feel the

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experience of imprisonment for 15 to 60 minutes upon payment of a small fee.55
Despite their aims in using the imitation method, neither the Ulucanlar Prison
Museum nor the Shame Museum evoke memories, only a feeling of a dark ride
at an amusement park. Within both of the artificially transformed and
constructed surroundings, at differing levels, the museums attempts to represent
the true past and to show the brutal violence perpetrated on the prisoners, (the
term prisoners is replaced with the terms revolutionaries and martyrs in the
Shame Museum), apparently to shock the visitors, however, turn into a failed
imitation.

Figure IV The new gallows exhibited at the 12 September Shame Museum

(photo by the author).

Despite the facts that the Revolutionary 78s Federation receives no institutional
support and lacks mnemonic places and devices, e.g. a historical place or
gallows, they receive support from the families of the victims of the 1980 coup.
Hence, the Shame Museum focuses on the remembrance of the victims and
survivors, whereas the past of the military coup is not the priority of the

55 Interview with the coordinator of the Ulucanlar Prison Museum Deniz Yavuz (2010), available at:
http:// www .sabah .com.tr/Gundem/2010/12/28/muzeden_tuyler_urperten_fotograflar (accessed 2
April 2012).
108
Ulucanlar Prison Museum, especially not in the way it is remembered by leftist
groups. This essential difference in remembering the past can easily be observed
in the discourse of victimization, which is the sole discourse of the Shame
Museum due to the fact that the revolutionaries were the victims of the coup,
while at the Ulucanlar Prison Museum victimization becomes a method of
fictionalizing the horror, since it is presented at an abstract level, detached from
the historical events and the objects of the violence. This fictionalization is
achieved by the use of plastic mannequins and rats and the conversion of the
womens wing into a gift shop, where visitors can buy T-shirts, key rings, coffee
cups, lighters, magnets, and postcards, all decorated with pictures of the prisons
famous prisoners and those who were executed. The executed revolutionaries
are, however, heroic myths of the revolutionary movement and they are
commemorated every year by their families and political organizations on the
dates of their executions. Since these executions symbolize the injustice of the
coup, the Revolutionary 78s Federation places great importance on
representation of them by exhibiting related photos, letters and personal
belongings repeatedly in the 12 September Shame Museum within the context of
leaders and martyrs of the revolutionary movement. Conversely, in the
Ulucanlar Prison Museum those who were executed during the 1980 military
coup are detached from their historical and political ties, and turned into objects
that are sold in the museum gift shop (Figure VII).

Figure V Wax mannequin with plastic rats in a cell at the Ulucanlar Prison
Museum (photo by the author).

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5. 1. 6 Reconstruction of an oppressed past and the problem of selectivity

The production of memory sites has always been problematic, especially in cases
of a traumatic past. The problem of inclusion and exclusion, the problem of
representing and preserving, and the impossibility of transferring the subjective
experience of the past into the present are problems faced when constructing
memory places. Above all, the place, similar to memory, has its own limits of
capacity and thus selectivity appears to be a necessity rather than a preference.
There is no possibility of exhibiting every story and every experience as a whole
in mnemonic places. Yet, selectivity also appears as a result of the politics of
memory in the production of memory places. Observation of the inclusion or
exclusion of objects and stories can tell us how a specific past event is being
interpreted by the remembering subject(s) in power. The fact of selectivity gives
rise to questions of inclusion and exclusion: who and what is being remembered
and to what extent? Whose story is not included? As in the case of the
construction of official history, groups also tend to reconstruct their past by
focusing on their recent perspectives, thoughts and sorrows, which is ultimately
an ignorance or exclusion of others.

Figure VI Wooden figure at the 12 September Shame Museum (photo by

the author).
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The Shame Museum has the problem of complexity in the selection of the time
period and the objects of remembrance, which results from an attempt to include
any relevant stories of revolutionaries regardless of their coherence with the past
of the 1980 military coup. In the entrance hall to the museum opposite the main
door there is a desk with a visitor book, and on the left, just in front of the
conference room, stand the imitation gallows decorated with red carnations. On
the walls there are portraits of the executed revolutionaries and below are
exhibited printed copies of their last letters to their families written immediately
before their executions. At the entrance and on the first floor there are portraits
of the leaders of the 68 generation. The Shame Museums exhibition of their
portraits, personal belongings and letters shows the 78 generations need for a
historical continuity with the previous revolutionary movement. Additionally, the
problem of selectivity grows further with the section concerning martyrs on the
second floor: the photos of the executed and murdered revolutionaries are
exhibited together with Victor Jara, who symbolises the brutality of the Chilean
Coup, and Uur Kaymaz, a 12-year-old Kurdish boy killed with his father in
police gunfire in front of his home in 2004. Moreover, huge posters of Che
Guevara and Fidel Castro are hung on the walls of the large hall with the text:
We salute the Cuban revolution. In the next room, there are colour photos of
Turkish revolutionaries who were killed under torture, or died after their release
as a result of torture suffered in prison in the early 1980s, together with prisoners
who lost their lives in the 1996 hunger strike. There are two sections on the third
floor: an exhibition of the executed revolutionaries personal belongings, such as
watches, shirts, pullovers, cameras, typewriters, lighters and glasses, and in the
next section there is an exhibition of paintings, photos of women prisoners, and
critical cartoon caricatures about the military coup. The belongings of the
legendary figures of the 68 and the 78 generations are also exhibited together
with those from figures of later eras. For example, the belongings of leftist
journalist Metin Gktepe, who died under police torture in 1996 together with
the jacket of the Armenian author, Hrant Dink, shot by a young nationalist in
2007. Because of the lack of a chronological and thematic order, in addition to
insufficient textual descriptions and explanatory information, visitors who are
not familiar with the history of the revolutionary movement would have
difficulty in understanding the context of the exhibitions in the Shame Museum.
In their longing for recognition, the 78s Federation exclude the executed or
imprisoned nationalists and conservatives from the past of the 12 September in
the Shame Museum. Whilst it promises to remember the military coup, the 12
September Shame Museum suffers from the problem of selectivity, especially
concerning who to mourn and who to remember. Thus, it becomes a melting pot
for all the pain and crimes committed and points to one single power (the
military) as the source of all the crimes committed against the left wing, Kurdish
civilians, an Armenian author and journalists. This practice of remembering 12

111
September is not based on a collectively experienced violence, or a common
shared past of specific groups in a certain time period and space; rather it is an
attempt at an indefinite practice of remembering everything. This kind of
reconstruction of the past, in search of a common perpetrator instead of a
common story, as made by the 78s Federation, leads to an abstract supernatural
mystic set of power and perpetrators.

Figure VII The gift shop at the Ulucanlar Prison Museum (photo by the
author).

Similarly, selection and exclusion also appear to be the main problem of the
Ulucanlar Prison Museum. Despite its promise to present the past of both left-
and right-wing prisoners, the distinction tends to be made between important
prisoners, and the others. Furthermore, some of the events, such as the
childrens riot in 1976, the hunger strike of leftist prisoners in 1996, the
imprisonment of Kurdish politicians, and the incidents in 1999, are, apart from
the display of a few newspaper articles, under-represented or ignored. In
contrast, portraits and personal belongings of right wing-authors and nationalists
are exhibited repeatedly. Lefebvre argues that considering space by excluding
the social and political relations it is produced through would be an initial error.
Then he asks, is it error, or is it ideology? The latter, more than likely, if so, who
promotes it? Who exploits it? Why and how do they do so? (1991: 94).
Ulucanlar Prison Museum, despite its claim, appears not to be interested in
covering all events occurring at the prison over its history; rather it promotes the
conservative right-wing nationalist ideology by presenting information about

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right-wing prisoners with a particular emphasis on their stories, and excludes the
other prisoners.

5. 1. 7 Discourses of victimization and efforts to prove an injustice

Undoubtedly, places and objects which bear traumatic meanings were the first
mnemonic tools that the victims remembered in constructing the past of the 1980
military coup. Despite the state authorities discourse of a victimized society at
the Ulucanlar Prison, the Revolutionary 78s Federation claims that the main
targets of the juntas violence were revolutionaries. The juntas activities, such as
the closure of the trade unions and NGOs, where the majority were left-wing
sympathizers, banning leftist authors books, expelling left-wing academics from
their posts, and the arrest of leftist university students, clearly show that the main
target of the military coup was the left movement. In this sense, however, the
Shame Museum falls into the trap of reproducing the hegemonic discourse of the
victimized innocent young by not including the victories of the workers
movement and the achievements of the trade unions during the 1970s. Rather,
victimization, as an inevitable result of the traumatized past, as in the
remembrance of the military coup, generates the main characteristics of the 12
September Shame Museum.
In the last decade, there has been increasing interest shown towards the
remembrance of past events which are either suppressed or ignored by the
official history in Turkey. The rising interest shown towards oral history studies,
testimonies, and survivors biographies and memoirs demonstrates not only a
fear of oblivion, but also a desire to confront a past which has been long
repressed, ignored and manipulated by the official memory. Memory works
focus on historical events which until recently have been considered taboo,
such as the Armenian massacres and deportation, the 1938 Dersim Massacre,
attacks against minorities, the events of September 6-7 1955, and the massacres
of Alewite civilians in the cities of Mara, orum, and Sivas. The memory works
dealing with these subjects reflect the variety of the past events suppressed by
the State apparatuses, as well as the multiplicity of perspectives in remembering
them. Despite the interest aroused in memory works, we are far from talking
about a memory boom as discussed by Huyssen (1995, 2003) for European and
Latin American countries in the 1990s. Such inflation has not been realized in
Turkey, not even in the 21st century, at least in the sense of monumentalism
and musealization.
The recent attempts of the 12 September Shame Museum and the Ulucanlar
Prison Museum signal a new era of memory in Turkey. As I have attempted to
show, memory places cannot be considered simply containers of objects, but
they need to be analysed as the products of social and political relations.
Confronting past events comes together with the problems of reconstructing
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them through mnemonic practices, exclusion/inclusion at commemorations,
preserving the ruins and the construction of monuments. The past and the present
perspectives of the actors are active in the processes of producing memory
places. Therefore, the order and the structure of the objects and narratives
exhibited/presented in the museums demonstrate the consciousness of the
remembering actors.
Although the Ulucanlar Prison Museum and the Shame Museum are
produced by different groups, the very characteristics of their discourses, such as
victimization, sacralisation, presentation of violence, imitation, and their
strategies of exclusion and inclusion share common grounds. Their distinctness,
however, is based on owning a memory-place which in itself is unintentionally
mnemonic, as in the Ulucanlar Prison Museum, or intentionally producing a
place in the absence of a mnemonic place, as in the Shame Museum. The other
prominent difference between the two museums is the function of their memory
politics: the Ulucanlar Prison Museum is decisive, with its rhetoric on space, in
supporting the official history, and the Shame Museum shows a longing for
recognition of the injustice of the experiences of the survivors and the victims of
the junta. The former aims to construct a patchwork from various eras to support
the discourse of a victimized society instead of oppressed revolutionaries; the
latter seeks to facilitate a collective mourning for one particular event. Still, the
complexity of the figures and narratives exhibited generates an ambiguity in the
commemoration of 12 September.

5. 2 Commemorative ceremonies, symbols and myths

Durkheims well known Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (1912) shows
the power of rituals in strengthening solidarity among group members and the
importance of rites for continuity with the past. By examining religious practices,
Durkheim demonstrates how collective consciousness and action are formed and
reformed. Thus, the whole system of representations assists members of a
community to form a common way of thinking and acting (Durkheim 1971
[1912]: 438). Halbwachs links Durkheims theory of the power of rituals for
collective consciousness to collective memory in his book The Legendary
Topography of the Gospels (1992 [1941]). In this work, Halbwachs
demonstrates how holy places embody their symbolic meanings and how these
meanings are transferred from generation to generation.
Similarly, in his book How Societies Remember (1989), Paul Connerton
demonstrates the significance of rituals in strengthening solidarity and historical
continuity by examining the commemorative ceremonies and symbols of the
National Socialists. He shows how rituals can be used by rulers to legitimise the
power they have, and how symbolic objects affect the collective memory of

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groups. Connerton uses the term ritual as described by Lukes: rule-governed
activity of a symbolic character which draws the attention of its participants to
objects of thought and feeling which they hold to be of special significance
(Connerton 1989: 44). Following Lukes and Connerton, this section of the
present study focuses on two things: first, rule-governed activit(ies) relating to
12 September commemorations and anniversaries; and second, the objects of
thought and feeling which embody symbolic meaning about the past of the coup
myths and symbols. However, since these objects and ritual activities work one
within the other, I will also discuss the characteristics and functions of symbols
and myths in practice.
In addition, understanding the material situation of the revolutionary groups
is essential for a further discussion of commemorative ceremonies, symbolic
figures and images. The previous chapter on the historical background of the
1980 military coup in this study aimed to cover the historical, political, economic
and social pre-conditions for the coup and the revolutionary movement.
However, it is also crucial to understand the present historical, legal and political
situation of the revolutionary groups before further discussion of the features of
their commemorations. In other words, to understand the meaning of rituals we
have to relate them comprehensively to the circumstances in which they [are]
performed (Connerton 1989: 51).

Historical and political conditions: The revolutionary movement has been

repressed in Turkey since 1980. The juntas brutal violence was followed by
control of political and cultural life through closure of the political parties and
trade unions, and censorship of media and books. During the 80s many militants
were arrested, many had to flee to other countries and some went missing or
were persecuted. The revolutionary organizations lost the support of the masses.
The multiple and diverse structure of the left-wing movement continues in the
present. As has been shown, left-wing politics in Turkey has strong transnational
links, and hence the organizations that political exiles participate in in Germany
are also multiple and diverse. Although some revolutionary groups have founded
legal political parties (P 1992, EMEP 1996, DP 1996) and continued to
publish periodical journals and newspapers, their effect has been limited
compared to the 70s. The only exception to this has been the Kurdish
Movement, which has its continued guerrilla war (Kurdistan Workers Party,
PKK founded in 1974) since 12 September. Because of the repression by the
institutions established during the junta regime, left-wing groups, the Kurdish
movement and other minorities who suffer from a lack of freedom of speech and
human rights argue that the inequalities and oppressions are a continuation of 12
September.

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Legal conditions: A continuation of 12 September has often been seen in the
case of legal practice. The constitution of 1982, the juntas constitution, through
its article 1556 banned any judgment of the junta members; their act of
overthrowing the civil government was legitimized with this law. The law was
only revised in 2010 after the referendum held, ironically, on the 30 th anniversary
of the military coup. Despite doubts on the part of some groups, two former
leaders of the junta, namely General Kenan Evren and General Tahsin ahinkaya
were put on trial for their roles in the military coup.
Since the 12 September is an issue that extends throughout the politics of
the left-wing movement, it is considered the root of the recent restraints, it has
become part of the political parties daily agenda. In this sense, remembering is
never part of the past, it is in the present. Therefore, it is hard to view the events
commemorating the 12 September as pure commemorations, but rather they
appear like any other political event in which recent national and international
political upheavals, and the perspectives of organizations and speakers, play a
major role. The general organisation of these events is very much like that of
academic conferences, panels or political party meetings, where experts give
speeches on their analyses of political, economic or social developments at
national and global levels. These kinds of events are not the subject of this study.
The research here is limited to commemorative events organized on the
anniversaries of massacres, or graveyard visits, and events featuring the
testimonies of victims and witnesses. By focusing on the activities of
organizations such as the Revolutionary 78s in Turkey and ATK (Avrupa
Trkiyeli iler Konfederasyonu Confederation of Workers from Turkey
Europe), TDAY (Trkiye Almanya nsan Haklar Dernei Human Rights
Organization Turkey/Germany) and DIDF (Demokratik i Dernekleri
Federasyonu Federation of Democratic Workers Organizations) in Germany, I
will try to show the main characteristics of remembering 12 September. Since
these organizations were founded by various left-wing groups, their
commemorative activities are based on the political perceptions of these groups.
In addition, what they commemorate depends on their political roots. For
instance, while DIDF organizes events on the anniversaries of the persecution of
THKO leaders (6 May), and commemorates Erdal Eren (13 December), ATK
organizes commemoration events for brahim Kaypakkaya, the persecuted
founder of the TKP-ML. Although they continue to maintain political differences
in their commemorative activities, there are nevertheless many similarities in the
structures and functions of these practices, as well as in the process of
constructing figures and objects of remembrance.
The commemorative activities are pre-eminently realized as periodical
formalized acts. Each year, different groups commemorate their persecuted

56 See the constitution issue number 15 (in Turkish) at http://www.anayasa.gen.tr/1982ay.htm

(accessed 20.09.2013).
116
militants and leaders. There are basically two distinct types of these memory
practices. The first group consists of events such as the anniversary of the loss of
a revolutionary, in which this loss is the focus. The second group of activities are
more exclusive in terms of their thematic focus and the events or people
remembered. This second group of activities, such as testimonials or
remembrances of a massacre, are similar to panels in terms of their organisation.
The forms of the activities also vary depending on practical features, such as the
size of the group, the size of the place, financial constraints or the availability of
technological tools. However, the very basic form of these commemorative
rituals remains the same. For instance, when a group organizes a
commemoration with the participation of its members all around Turkey, or in
the case of Germany this could even cover brother organizations in Europe,
then the programme lasts longer, with relevant films, concerts and so on. If the
target group of the event is limited to a local branch of the organization, then the
activities are also limited. Nevertheless, practices like respecting a moment of
silence for the martyrs of the revolution, the process of making myths out of
revolutionaries and events, or of using objects to transfer the symbolic meanings
embedded in them are common ways of formalizing the commemorative acts.
These events, no matter in which form they realized, are the markers of the
history of the group which practices them. They are specific to the calendar of
the groups own history. Repetition, as Durkheim constantly emphasizes, is
crucial for historical continuity. He argues that the societal need for historical
continuity results in the crucial signification of periodic commemoration, which
allows the society to renew the sentiment which it has of itself and its unity
(1971: 420) (Misztal 2003a: 125). Similarly, Connerton argues that all rites are
repetitive, and repetition automatically implies continuity with the past
(Connerton 1989: 45).
For further discussion of the structures of the commemorative practices, the
following sections focuse on four main concepts: heroization and victimization;
sacralization; myths; and exclusion and inclusion. The common features of the
12 September commemorations, the objects of these activities, the images and
discourses, and how they are being re-formed by recent political upheavals will
be analyzed with reference to these four concepts.

5. 2. 1 Heroization and victimization

If Achilles chooses as his aged father hopes to stay put at home in Phthia among family and
in safety, he will have a long, peaceful, happy life, coursing through the whole cycle of the
time granted to mortals into an old age surrounded with affection. But, however fine it might
be, even brightened by the best fortune a mans career on this earth can bring, his existence
will leave no trace of its light behind it: When it is done, that life decays in darkness, in
nothingness. The hero disappears with the life, entirely and forever. Plunging down into Hades,
without name, without face, without memory, he vanishes as if he had never existed.

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 Or else Achilles may take the other option: a short life and everlasting glory. (Vernant 2002:
86).

Immortality is possible for heroes by leaving some marks in the memory of

people. The fate of ordinary things is to be forgotten. What makes a mans life
unusual, unexpected, and shocking enough to leave traces in the memory of
people? Vernant entitles the story of Achilles Die Young, Live on in Glory.
However, dying young is not enough for immortality; one must have a fine
death. [E]ach man must show what he is, demonstrate for all eyes his
excellence, an excellence that reaches its peak in battle and finds its completion
in a fine death (Vernant: 86). Everlasting glory comes with a short and
meaningful life. We mortals, need to believe in the courage and the fidelity of
the lost ones. Staying alive in a battle, living long, or dying young but lacking
excellence prevent men from becoming heroes.57 In other words, without being a
brave victim, one cannot become a hero. Although the notions of victimhood
and heroization seem contrary, they are complementary. Their relation to each
other is just like memory and oblivion, remembering and forgetting; not
opposites, but rather they have a dialectical relation.
The 12 September commemorative activities, therefore, are first based on
this dialectic of victimization and heroization. While the coup, the military, and
the junta regime are cursed for their brutal violence and the power they exercised
over revolutionaries and society in general, brave resistance by revolutionaries is
told almost as a legend. A tragic story of a revolutionary is always completed
with his/her courage in resisting against collaborating with the junta, and his/her
commitment to the party (or socialism, communism, Marxism and so on). The
immortality of the lost revolutionary is stressed by an absence of the date of
death, and his/her heroic characteristics are verbally emphasized with the words
honour, resistance and commitment. The symbolization at the
commemorations will be elaborated on later, but here I would like to continue
with the structure of the commemorations by providing some examples.
As a member of the audience when I participated in these activities, the
dominant thoughts and feelings I had were of sadness, hatred and admiration.
One of these commemorative meetings that I participated in was the fourth
Witnesses Speaking event organized by the Revolutionary 78s Federation in
Ankara. The meeting was part of the 12 September Week Events, held on 8
September 2009 in the conference room of the Chamber of Civil Engineers. The

57 Thinking of the images of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro, two leaders of the Cuban Revolution,
we may assume that among many other things, Che Guevaras tragic death at a young age plays an
important role in his global glory; he was not only a brave revolutionary who fought for his peoples
independence. Donna Haraway, in her book Modest_ Witness @Second _ Millennium .FemaleMan
Meets_OncoMouse (1997) shows how scientific experiments on living species are linked to
religious narratives (predominantly having Christian origins), especially Christs sacrifice for
humanity.
118
small conference room was half empty. On the stage were five witnesses to talk
about their friends who were persecuted by the junta. Ylmaz Yukargz was
there to talk about his brother Ramazan Yukargz, who was executed in 1983.
Similarly, Ercan Karata was invited to talk about his brother Erdoan Karata,
who was killed in a battle in 1990, and Hseyin Esentrk was to talk about his
friend Atilla Acartrk. Suat Arabac was invited to tell of witnessing the
persecution of the Akyaz martyrs and Necmettin Salaz to talk about his
memories of Diyarbakr Dungeon.
Like all the witness stories, Necmettin Salazs speech was full of emotion.
He started his talk with the tortures the prisoners endured at the Diyarbakr
Prison. Most of these tortures resulted from the regimes politics of
Turkization. Diyarbakr Prison, where the majority of the prisoners were
Kurdish, has been the centre of this policy. Salaz told of how prisoners were
forced to write nationalist slogans on the walls, such as The greatest Turk is
Atatrk, Happy to be Turk!58 The methods of torture were not limited to
repression of identity; the prisoners were also humiliated by various terrible
ordeals, such as being forced to stand in wastewater. Salaz argued that the
repression they experienced resulted in abandonment of the idea of resisting. The
prisoners were afraid to object to the torture their friends had to gone through.
Moreover, Salaz argued that they had to let the perpetrators insult the prisoners
and humiliate (especially in the case of Kurdish identity) the revolutionaries. The
narrative focused on the victimhood of the prisoners at Diyarbakr Prison. Salaz
continued with an account of the resistance of some prisoners which finally
rescued the honour of all the prisoners. The first person to protest against the
violence in the prison was Mazlum Doan, who hanged himself. Later, some
prisoners protested with hunger strikes. He could hardly continue, his voice
trembled, and finally when talking about the death of his four friends who burnt
themselves to death to protest against the violence at Diyarbakr Prison, he
started crying, and so did we. How could destroying ones own body be
interpreted as resistance, especially when we know that this was also the purpose
of the perpetrators? The narratives of the prisoners told that their bodies were
turned into tools of torture. The prisoners bodies were, for the perpetrators,
objects on which they could exercise their absolute power. When the
perpetrators see themselves as gods, as those who have the right to decide on
ones life or death, then a prisoners decision about his/her body, even killing
him/herself, could be the only and even the most effective form of resistance
(Sarlo: 75). There was absolute silence in the conference room. No one dared to

58 The Turkish originals of these quotations are as follows: En byk Trk Atatrk; Ne mutlu
Trkm diyene!
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break the silence. At this point, Salazs words changed the atmosphere: They
sacrificed themselves for their people.59
A few months later, I participated in the commemoration of Mehmet ahin
in Cologne Germany, on 28 March 2010.60 It was the third anniversary of his
loss. He and his wife were arrested soon after the coup dtat was declared on 12
September 1980 and they were tortured for months. Mehmet ahin was
suspected by the perpetrators of being the leader of the local branch of an illegal
left-wing organization, and he was tortured by pouring boiling water down his
throat. As a result of this terrible torture, Mehmet ahin suffered from throat
cancer, and finally died from the disease in 2007. The event was held in a
conference room in a Brgerzentrums (townhouse) in Cologne. At the entrance, I
was surprised to see tables set for catering. There were homemade pastries and
salads, as well as tea and coffee, to be served to the guests. Next there was a
table with the book authored by Merve ahin (the memoir of Mehmet ahin) and
CDs of his poems.61
I noticed first the homogeneity of the group. It seemed to me more like a
meeting of the members of a family. Everyone greeted each other; they all
seemed like relatives. There was a big poster hanging on the stage with a picture
of Mehmet ahin with the text The most beautiful example of an honoured life
which did not surrender to the tyrants of 12 September. We will not forget
you.62 Under his portrait was written only his date of birth and three dots instead
of the date of his death, which symbolized him still being alive. Next to the
poster, there are some family pictures of Mehmet ahin, mostly in black and
white, and nearby another portrait of Mehmet ahin is displayed on a table
behind some candles. At the back of the conference room, there was another
poster, with a red background and a text in yellow: Mehmet ahin never dies. 63
There was a red rose on the speakers table, since he is often referred to as the

59 In Turkish this sentence is Kendilerini halka armaan ettiler. The word armaan (gift)
emphasizes that it was a voluntary death.
60 I later conducted an interview with the wife of the person commemorated at this event. For the
sake of anonymity I will continue to use the anonymous names which are used in the interview.
Analysis of this interview can be found in the following chapter, in the story of Merve ahin. Here,
the person commemorated will be referred to as Mehmet ahin.
61 I owe special thanks to Merve ahin, who gave me a copy of the video records of this
commemoration. During the analysis of this meeting I benefited from these records when my notes
were lacking in details.
62 12 Eyll zalimlerine boyun emeyen, onurlu bir yaamn en gzel rnei, gerek bir insan haklar
savunucusu. Her dnceden, her kltrden ve her renkten bir iek tarlasna dnm bir yeryz
iin yrdn. Seni unutmayacaz.
63 Mehmet ahin lmszdr.
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rose of the resistance. The red rose symbolized Mehmet ahin.64 The setting and
the objects pointed to a heroic character rather than a victim.
Following a moment of silence, the programme started with a short speech
by the moderator. He talked of his wife, his daughter and friends memory of the
lost loved one, naturally consisting of pain and sadness. This should not be
mistaken for victimization. Talking about the torture, violence and troubles
experienced during the junta regime or during imprisonment is also not always
necessarily victimizing. I consider these talks to be narratives of a difficult past;
they are testimonials. How they are told, how these narratives are reconstructed
in other words the story of what is lived, the text structure of the story, needs to
be analyzed in order to understand the process of victimization and heroization.
Therefore, I consider the images, symbols and verbal expressions which are
based on the stories of pain, suffering, sacrifice, desperation and conscience, as
the elements of victimizing. In these kinds of stories, the subject is pictured as
the passive innocent target of the violence, abstracted from his/her thoughts,
decisions and actions. Victimization results in mercy. Heroization is constructed
via stories of resistance, good will, consistency, victory, honour, wisdom and
immortality. The hero subject is pictured as a decision-taking active (leading)
person. Heroization results in admiration. The stories told by the family members
and friends of Mehmet ahin (my observation is not limited to this one meeting;
I attended several commemorations of Mehmet ahin) emphasize how he was
loyal to his comrades and the revolution, and how terribly he suffered. Despite
the fact that he was not killed directly by the junta, but died long after in 2007 at
the age of 59, what makes him a symbol of the resistance among many others
(the rose of the resistance) is not only his story of suffering and bravery, but his
death. One cannot become a hero when still alive.
The question of how being alive or not affects the memory of the 12
September first appeared when I was conducting the biographical narrative
interviews. Why is it always the one who is not here anymore that we cry for or
we greet? Although many of the revolutionaries I interviewed suffered terrible
tortures, injuries and physical and psychological violence during their
imprisonment, or put up strong resistance or made prison breaks, their own
experiences are somehow underestimated. In December 2012, I attended a
commemorative meeting for Erdal Eren, who was executed at the age of 17.
Local DDF organizations organize commemorative events for Erdal Eren each
year in December. The meeting in Cologne was rather a small one, since it was
not announced publicly and limited to the participation of members. The
programme was also short: a documentary film about Erdal Erens life, his

64 As discussed in the section about symbols, the revolutionaries are symbolized with red carnations.
Red carnations are also symbols of socialism, and hence are quite often used at the commemorations
of 12 September.
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political involvement, the trial and his execution, followed by a discussion. I was
invited to talk about my research on 12 September for the discussion.
The 80-minute documentary, entitled Your Son, Erdal (Olunuz Erdal)65
opens with the poem by Onat Kutlar which criticizes the tendency to forget,
especially the loss of the revolutionaries who died to live. 66 It ends with the last
letter by Erdal Eren, which says living has itself turned to a torture because of
the cruelty and brutality experienced every day. Death is therefore not a
frightening thing, rather a salvation strongly desired. Another text says:
between 1980 and 1984, 50 people were executed as ordered by the generals,
more than 10 thousand people were tortured, thousands were murdered under
torture, in the streets, during raids on their homes. Yet still, after 30 years the
generals of the coup dtat have not been judged. Erdal Erens case is a symbol
of the injustice: first of all, his crime was never proven; second, he was only 17
years old at the time of his persecution and according to the law execution of
prisoners under 18 was not allowed. This case is in that sense special: he was the
youngest of the executed young revolutionaries (Figure VIII). His young age and
his innocence hurt too much for the revolutionaries, and on the other hand his
execution was the proof of the militarys bloody murders. During the film, some
participants left the room, while others commented that Erdals story is too sad to
bear. In my talk, after giving some brief information about my research, I asked
the participants why they underestimate their own stories, their own sorrows or
their victories, but cry for the others. In addition, I said that the victims of the
coup dtat are not limited just to the executed revolutionaries, but there are
thousands around who stay in silence. Many objected to the ideas of staying in
silence, underestimating the subjective pain, crying for the other. They
insisted that there is no point in talking about their own past, tortures or
sorrows; hence they were healed by the common political struggle of their
comrades. Besides, everyone was tortured anyway, what could be special about
their stories? If there were no point in focusing on the pain, are we to forget the
past of 12 September? Then why are we still mourning only executed
revolutionaries such as Erdal Eren? The debate was tense. Some told me to read
more about the revolutionary movement; some directly said that I do not know
anything. I knew that the reason for this aggression was misinterpretation of my
words. My questions were understood as insulting their sacred symbols and
myths. On the contrary, I wanted to say that all of their stories are as important as
the others which are the symbols of the militarys violence and being alive does

65 The film is produced by Foundation of Social Researches and directed by Tun Erenku. The
interviews in the films are conducted by Tevfik Ta (2010).
66 imdi sessiz duruyoruz kysnda bir dncenin,
unutmamak iin nk unutuun kolay lkesindeyiz.
l balklar geiyor krk bir deniz sofrasndan
ve ellerinde fenerlerle benim arkadalarm.
Durmadan dnyorum ne kadar ok ldk yaamak iin. Onat Kutlar
122
not change the reality. In my opinion this meant underestimating subjective
experiences of brutality. A woman in her mid-60s asked me to listen to her
carefully while the others were already discussing in small groups. She said
when we cry, we dont only cry for Erdal Eren, but we cry for ourselves. For
instance when I cry now, I also cry for my daughter who passed away a few
years ago. But we never talk about this in public.

Figure VIII Picture from the commemoration of Erdal Eren in Ankara. The
date of death is not printed on his grave and red carnations are placed as
symbols of socialism and revolution. (Source: https: // www. youtube. com/
watch? v= n 7S _m-UG8WU)

Subjectively experienced sorrows are reflected in the stories of the executed

revolutionaries, where everyone could find something familiar with her/his own
story. The power of the victimized heroes is not only generated from their own
thoughts and actions, but also from the meanings we construct for them which
embody our feelings and thoughts. Energies greater than those at our disposal
must come from the object, and, more than that, we must have some means of
making them enter into us and blend into our inner life (Durkheim 1971: 419-
420). Therefore, in the following sections I will discuss the means of making
people, objects and places sacred and the process of blending into our inner
life.

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5. 2. 2 Sacralization; myths and symbols of the 12 September

Despite the multiplicity of the left-wing parties and organizations, their traditions
and their diverse perspectives on the past of 12 September, the objects that are
used to remember the past remain the same. These objects are powerful tools for
transferring the embedded meaning among the members of the group, as well as
transferring those meanings from generation to generation. Because of the
meaning embedded in them, they cannot be considered simply by their material
presence. Schwartz (1982) calls these symbolic mnemonic objects icons, which
is a social referent, namely a pictorial representation of a sacred figure to whom
veneration is offered (Schwartz 1982: 377). By adapting this to Lukes
definition of rituals, we are not mistaken to say that icons are the objects/images
of thought and feeling used in collective representations. In other words, objects
become icons when they have not only material force but also symbolic power
(Bartmanski and Alexander 2012: 1). In his analysis of religious cults, Durkheim
discusses how objects gain sacred meanings. What is the process of sacralization,
the process of considering an object as worthy of being loved and sought after?
He writes:
[] it is not enough that we think about them; it is indispensable that we place ourselves under
their influence, that we turn ourselves in the direction from which we can best feel that
influence. In short, we must act; and so we must repeat the necessary acts as often as is
necessary to renew their effects. From this standpoint, it becomes apparent that the set of
regularly repeated actions that make up the cult regains all its importance (1971 [1912]: 419-
420).

Durkheim emphasizes the process of subjection: the influence of objects in

commemorative acts is powerful when the members of the group turn into
passive subjects who place themselves under their influence. The process of
placing oneself under the influence of a commemorative action, ritual, symbol or
myth, in other words the process of subjection, ensures the identity of the group
as we. They are the tools of acting in and through collective consciousness.
Although subjects move with conscious awareness of what they do in rituals
and commemoration, for example they are acting on unconscious beliefs
(Gook 2011: 18). The act of placing ourselves under the influence of the cult is
hence not an unconscious act, but this process of subjection has a surplus
enjoyment: there is an unconscious enjoyment in subjection, in yielding and
obeying and being seen to yield and obey the rules of the ideology (Sharpe
and Boucher 2010: 11-44 quoted in Gook 2011: 18). It is the images, objects,
speeches, songs, stories, the mnemonic products as discussed by Jeffrey Olick
(2008: 158), that serve to structure unconscious enjoyment in mnemonic
practices. Schwartz (1982) also emphasizes the collective unconscious
embedded in commemorative practices. Referring to Lloyd Warner, he writes:
Just as dreams enable us to study the individual unconscious [] iconic
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commemoration may be treated as the via regia to the collective unconscious
(Warner quoted in Schwartz 1982: 377). Halbwachs, in his article about images
of holy places, emphasizes the symbolic reflection which detaches these
places from their physical environment and connects them with the beliefs of the
group. [] The image had to adjust itself to beliefs, not to real places. So, while
the actual places became effaced, the groups beliefs became stronger (1992:
205).
In the mnemonic practices of 12 September, as mentioned earlier in this
chapter, the means of collective representations are the portraits of the
revolutionaries, images of the prisons and prisoners, party flags, red carnations
(used especially at the anniversaries of the deaths of executed revolutionaries),
revolutionary songs and poems. The anniversaries of executed revolutionaries
are typical examples of religious rites being interpreted and turned into
revolutionary rites. These rites start with a minute of silence in respect to the
martyrs of the revolution. It is also common to read a poem following the minute
of silence which comes in the form of a prayer. The most common poem is by
the communist poet Nazm Hikmets which, reads The dead died in their
struggle. They are buried in the sun. We have no time for mourning. There is this
invasion now, invasion of the sun. We will invade the sun, soon is the invasion
of the sun.67 It is of course ironic to read this poem, which says we have no
time for mourning at a mourning event. In his poem, Nazm Hikmet is against
mourning for the past but rather suggests turning our faces to the future. Instead
of mourning those who died in their struggle for communism, the revolutionaries
should think of the future in which they will finally establish communism (the
invasion of the sun). The lines the ones who carry the tears of the crying ones
behind, like a heavy ankle bracelet, should not join us on our way. The ones who
are living attached to the crusts of their hearts, should leave us. 68 Nevertheless,
this poem is used at mourning events, and the last letters written before their
executions by the revolutionaries referred to as martyrs turn into kinds of
verses (Figure IX). The left-wing movement faces the difficulty of inventing its
own tradition for mourning other than religious rites. Although both literally and
visually the commemorations share commonalities with religious rites, this
commonality is not structural but rather formal. By claiming the immortality of
those executed, the revolutionaries want to stress the power of the revolutionary
movement to the persecutors. They want to show the persecutors (and of course
the members of the group) that the revolutionary struggle still continues, and the
executed revolutionaries will never be forgotten. Referring once again to the

67 Nazm Hikmet, Gnei enlerin Trks: lenler, derek ldler; gnee gmldler.
Vaktimiz yok onlarn matemini tutmaya! Akn var, gnee akn! Gnei zaaaptedeceiz gnein zapt
yakn!

68 Dmesin bizimle yola: evinde alayanlarn, gz yalarn boynunda ar bir zincir gibi tayanlar!
Braksn peimizi kendi yreinin kabuunda yaayanlar!
125
story of Achilles, one continues to live in the memories of mortals after a fine
death. Therefore, it is not the persecutors, but oblivion which causes the death of
a revolutionary. The practices only formally resemble religious rites. One should
read those lines not as contradicting materialism; rather they need to be
considered signs of not being defeated by the enemy.

Figure IX The grave of Veysel Gney. Below the Dev-Yol symbol and a
photo of him his name and his date of birth are printed. On the lower stone,
the last sentences from a letter to his parents are printed: Dig me a grave by
a road, write martyr of the revolution. Place a raised fist with a star (the
Dev-Yol symbol), immortality is now where I lie. Farewell Yours
Veysel.69

5. 2. 3 Exclusion and inclusion

Images, myths, and symbols are the signs of collective identity. Like other ritual
tools, mnemonic ones are essential for the construction, transmission and
representation of collective consciousness. Through mnemonic practices and

69 Photograph taken from the web page of Radikal Newspaper. For more information about the
Veysel Gney monument, see: www.radikal.com.tr/turkiye/32_yil_sonra_anit_mezari_oldu-1152994
.
126
products, members of groups strengthen their solidarity. Mnemonic products are
also tools for differentiating from others. In this section, I will discuss the
definitions of we and the others who are excluded at the practices
commemorating 12 September. First, I will briefly discuss how images of the
enemy and the revolutionaries are constructed, the main elements of this
construction and how they are represented at commemorations. By elaborating
on the construction of the revolutionary, I aim to also show who is included in
this image and who is not. The meaning embedded in the products of cultural
memory is also reconstructed depending on recent social, political and economic
conditions. Therefore, it is worth discussing the meaning constructed in the
image of the revolutionary and the enemy.

The image of the revolutionary: The executed revolutionaries are often

represented as young plants to emphasize their youth. In particular, the executed
leaders of the THKO are referred to as young plants; in fact, Nihat Behrams
book about these revolutionaries is named after this image: The Three Young
Plants on the Gallows (2006: [1976]). Similar to the image of a young plant,
another characteristic of the revolutionary image, resisting, is often linked with
the story of brahim Kaypakkaya, the leader of the TKP-ML. Resisting does not
only consist of resisting the junta regime, but also of not collaborating with the
enemy, not spying on comrades, keeping the party secrets, and not surrendering
even when the most brutal violence is experienced. The self-sacrifice of the
revolutionary proves his/her attachment to party and comrades, and finally
his/her belief in and loyalty to the revolution. Lastly the image of the
revolutionary is gendered: it is male. Literally and visually, the gender of an
ordinary natural revolutionary is pictured as male. Only in special
circumstances, for instance when talking about the resistance at the Mamak
Military Prison, are the revolutionaries defined as our women comrades, which
means we naturally refers to men. At my participations to the conferences and
commemorative events, I observed that women are invited as witnesses to talk
about the lost loved ones: husbands, brothers or sons but not as speakers who
speak on their own experiences as revolutionaries. At conferences about the
coup, there are usually separate sections named Women and the 78s, Women
and the 12 September or Women and the Revolution. This attitude is also
observed at the Shame Museum which is discussed in detail in the section about
the production of the memory-places. One small section on the top floor was
given to women revolutionaries to exhibit their memories of the 12 September.
Even there, women were related with the motherhood by exhibiting baby clothes.
Similarly, at Ulucanlar Prison Museum, there is almost nothing exhibited about
the women revolutionaries who were imprisoned there and moreover womens
ward is in the present serving as the gift shop of the prison museum.

127
The image of evil: Construction of the image of evil is based on three major
reasons for the coup dtat: militarism, neo-liberal politics and imperialism. The
actors embodying these three factors are seen as General Kenan Evren (the
military), former prime minister and President Turgut zal (neo-liberal politics),
and the IMF and the USA (imperialism and capitalism). At a national level, in a
narrower sense, some industrialists such as Vehbi Ko, Halit Narin and
organizations such as the TSAD (Organization of Turkish Industrialists and
Businessmen) are part of the enemies group. In panels and conferences about
12 September I participated, the roles of these actors are often discussed in
detail. The totality of enemies is usually referred to as they in informal
meetings, assuming that we all know who they are. In some of these events,
especially testimonials where the prisons are the main topic, the image of the
enemy is less blurred; it becomes concrete and visible with the names of the
persecutors: the Diyarbakr Prison commander Esat Oktay Yldran, and Raci
Tetik, who was colonel at the Mamak Military Prison in Ankara. The discussions
at meetings play a crucial role in the reconstruction of the image of evil, which is
displayed and circulated by mnemonic products including party manifestos,
posters, and drawings. Each of the actors is symbolized with different objects
and images in relation to the power they exercised over the revolutionaries,
workers and trade unions. The military is often symbolized with combat boots
and battle tanks, neo-liberal politics with images of poverty, and the USA is
symbolized with the image of Uncle Sam and US Dollars (Figures X and XI).
The practices commemorating 12 September are constituted by an ongoing
story of the battle between the two parties: revolutionaries and imperialists. As I
discuss in the section about the production of memory places, despite the
nationalists claim that they were victimized by the 12 September coup, the
revolutionaries exclude stories about them from commemorative activities, and
vice versa. Although, imprisoned and executed nationalist militants from the
Grey Wolves are mentioned at panels and testimonies, they are compared to
chess pawns: used by the regime against the left before the coup, and later as a
way of legitimizing the military power in public.

128
Figure X Images that symbolize the role of the USA 1. The role of the USA is
often symbolized by the image of the US Dollars and Uncle Sam. Blent Hans
drawing from the book entitled 12 Eyll 1980 Darbesinin 30. Ylnda
Besleyenler ve Beslenenler Karikatr Sergisi (2010).

Figure XI Images that symbolize the role of the USA 2. Canol Karagz
drawing combines the images of the US Dollars and rocker Uncle Sam which
is holding a gun instead of a guitar. Source: 12 Eyll 1980 Darbesinin 30.
Ylnda Besleyenler ve Beslenenler Karikatr Sergisi (2010).

129
 During the 70s few women militants were in leading positions in left-wing
organizations, parties and trade unions. Nonetheless, despite their not very
important involvement in the movement, many revolutionary women were
tortured for weeks, resulting in physical, mental and psychological problems. 70
In a recently edited book Kaktsler Susuz da Yaar (Without water, cactuses can
still grow, 2011) women who were imprisoned at the Mamak Military Prison
write about their experiences during their imprisonment. Some of them write that
although men were charged with founding and leading terrorist organizations,
and hence were held in prison longer than women revolutionaries, women
experienced hard times after their release as well. Women revolutionaries had to
support their imprisoned husbands, partners and comrades both emotionally and
financially. Feminist authors argue that this situation of the women
revolutionaries of dual-oppression generated an interest in the feminist
movement with women starting to question and share their experiences before
and after the coup. Hence the period is considered a milestone in the second
wave of feminism in Turkey (Berktay, 1990; Bora, Gnal, 2002; Tekeli, 1990).
Womens experiences of the coup dtat, however, remain behind the curtains. In
the commemorative events in which I participated, either there were no women
invited to speak about the past of the coup as witnesses or revolutionaries, or,
when invited, their role was to talk about third persons: their husband, brother or
son. Thus women were included in the role of relatives but not revolutionaries.
Even women killed or lost were rarely remembered. For instance, the murder of
Cennet Deirmenci, a TKP/ML militant who was killed in 1982, despite her
persecutors confessions of the torture they exercised on her, is effaced from the
collective memory of the revolutionaries.
Among the 50 persecutions during the junta regime, the revolutionaries
commemorate 17 of them. 24 of the persecuted were criminal offenders, eight
were nationalists and one was an ASALA (The Armenian Secret Army for the
Liberation of Armenia) militant. However, some revolutionaries, particularly
Armenian socialists, argue that Levon Ekmekiyan, the ASALA militant, was
also a revolutionary and should be commemorated together with the other
executed revolutionaries.71
Before concluding, in reference to Halbwachs presentist approach, I would
like to stress some differences between the commemorative practices in Turkey
and Germany. In general, the practices commemorating 12 September in
Germany are similar to the ones in Turkey, as a result of attachment to home

70 Some of the women revolutionaries I interviewed talked about the torture they experienced and its
results. Some experienced early menopause syndromes in their 20s, some had physical disabilities,
and some suffer from chronic depression. Women also told me that they were often tortured through
their femininity, and hence had the fear of not looking like a woman anymore.
71 afak ente discusses Ekmekiyans protest at Esenboa Airport, his imprisonment and the
ignorance of him by the revolutionaries in Turkey in his article Birgn, Hrant ve Levon, 2012. The
article can be read at: http://fakfukfon.wordpress.com/2012/02/02/birgun-hrant-ve-levon/
130
politics. For panels and conferences speakers are invited from Turkey, and in
addition political exiles are invited from other European countries. Party politics
at home are also reflected in the political activities and relations of the groups in
Germany. Similarly, exiles are invited to talk about their experiences of
becoming political exiles during/after the coup at the events organized in Turkey.
Based on this exchange between the networks and the strength of transnational
politics, and most particularly the exiles continuing interest in home politics, the
commemorative practices share mutually similar formal and structural
characteristics. However, living as an exile in a foreign country, the experiences
of homelessness and homesickness, either do not appear at all or appear as sub-
issues at the events in Turkey, whereas they are vital, the most dominant topic in
the practices held in Germany. On the other hand, at the events in Turkey
revolutionaries argue that 12 September continues with the juntas institutions
and regulations which organize public and cultural life, limit the activities of
political parties, repress trade unions, and restrict protests and civil engagement,
and hence the revolutionaries continue to feel the oppression. Therefore, the
events of 12 September are remembered in their relation to political upheavals in
the present in Turkey (Figure XII).
Recent political upheavals affect the commemorative events in Germany as
well. Nonetheless, the exiles invariably comment and act on these changes
through their collective identity as exiles. One of the recent changes connected to
the 1980 coup dtat is the trial of two junta generals, which started on 4 April
2012. Despite fears about the sufficiency of the trial, as well as doubts about a
fair trial and disbelief in the governments discourse on confrontation, both the
exile organizations and the leftist organizations in Turkey showed great interest
in the case. Both in Turkey and in Germany, with the participation of diverse
political parties and organizations, committees were established to follow the
trial held in Ankara. The committees have been working on consciousness
raising and the mobilization of public opinion.
During my research I attended some of the meetings of the committee in
Germany, which was first named Committee for Solidarity with Free Captives in
Europe (Avrupa zgr Tutsaklarla Dayanma Komitesi) and later the Watchdog
Committee for the Trials of the 12 September (12 Eyll Davasn zleme
Komitesi). In Turkey, I conducted an expert interview with the lawyer Hsn
ndl, who was the lawyer for the revolutionaries during the 80s and one of the
founders of the Human Rights Organization (established in 1986), after the
referendum in April 2011. During the trial in 2012, I met with members of two
organizations, the Revolutionary 78s Federation in Ankara and the Human
Rights Organization in stanbul. To learn the perspectives of these organizations
and their demands and expectations of the trial, I conducted expert interviews
with Cumhur Yavuz and Hulusi Zeybel. The committee members in Germany
and Turkey agree on their demands and expectations of the trial, as well as on

131
their disbelief that the AKP government will confront the past of the junta. They
also argue that the case is symbolic, since only two generals are on trial. They
believe that the trial should include all of the persecutors: everyone who was
directly or indirectly involved in the tortures and executions, or ignored the
violence and brutality. The revolutionaries demand that the soldiers of all ranks,
police officers, doctors, judges and journalists who supported junta crimes be
judged; otherwise the trial would not open a way to confront the past. They also
demand that the necessary legislation be passed for the return of all political
exiles. The differences between the committees in Turkey and Germany are, first
of all, that this last demand concerning the political exiles is the essential one for
the committee in Germany. Second, the committees in Turkey often refer to
recent political and military crimes in Turkey (the Sivas massacre in 1993, prison
operations called Hayata Dn in 2000, and the assassination of Hrant Dink in
2007) and emphasize that these crimes too should be judged together with the
crimes of the junta, since they are linked to the past crimes.

Figure XII Commemoration of the massacre of 16 March held in 2012. On

16 March 1978, seven leftist students were killed in Istanbul. In this poster,
the first photograph is of this massacre, the second photograph shows the
Halabja massacre, which took place on 16 March 1988 in Iraqi Kurdistan.
The third photograph was taken in Sivas on 2nd of July 1993, of the
massacre of 35 Alevis. The last photo is of the Roboski massacre, which
resulted in the killing of 34 Kurdish citizens in December 2011. (Source:
http:// www.youtube.com /watch?v =tEzmtDMieIM)

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 To sum up, depending on their political interests, different groups put the
emphasis on different persons and events at the commemorations. The
multiplicity of leftist groups in the 70s is reflected in the memory practices.
Every revolutionary group has the capacity to remember the coup dtat from the
various perspectives they had in the past and they have in the present in order to
strengthen the perception of we and the collective consciousness among the
group members. Nonetheless, there are commonalities in their practices in terms
of how memory practices are being ritualized and symbolized. As argued,
particularly the anniversaries of the persecutions and massacres have the form of
religious rites. Sacralization appears to be the dominant strategy in these events
and is practised through heroization (immortality, generosity, self-sacrifice) and
victimization (youth, innocence, purity and, again, self-sacrifice). The dilemma
of heroization and victimization not as opposite characteristics but as unified
ones is elaborated in discussion of the image of the revolutionary. Second, the
past of the 12 September is being reconstructed amidst recent political changes.
As Halbwachs states, collective memory is marked with the events of history
(1980: 54). Memory of 12 September has the marks of recent political upheavals,
massacres and human rights violations. The memory practices of the left-wing
groups in Turkey and Germany differentiate at this point. For the exiles, having
been forced to leave the country is a vital problem among the other crimes of the
junta, whereas the revolutionaries who reside in Turkey emphasize the repression
resulting from the institutions established by the junta. Continuing oppression is
often interpreted as continuation of 12 September. Thus, the revolutionary
groups in Turkey demand radical reforms concerning the scopes of these
institutions, which will implicitly affect the exiles.
The battle of mnemonic practices, it is to be hoped, will continue to
challenge the hegemonic interpretation of the past in Turkey. An efficient
memory politics should aim to provide oppressed groups with the necessary
grounds and tools to practise memory, especially in cases of memories of
violence, not only for the purposes of mourning and commemorating, but also to
foster a public peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Painful memories are in
need of a place to present themselves and to attain recognition for healing.
Only after recovering from the wounds of a traumatic past will it be possible to
dream about the future.

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6. Types and concepts of remembering 12 September

Narratives are the products of active meaning-making and reasoning processes.

Biographers in structuring their narratives try to make sense of past events. I
have argued several times in previous chapters that biographies are social
reconstructions. Therefore, it is crucial to ensure the structural (chronological
order of the events) and contextual (sequencing of the themes) consistency of the
whole life story. In this chapter, I analyse how revolutionaries reconstruct their
biographies and demonstrate the social frameworks of their remembering. The
chapter consists of two parts: a first part dealing with memories of past events
(the revolutionary movement of 1968, imprisonment, resistance, perpetrators,
and narratives of 12 September); and a second part that discusses four concepts
of remembering generated by the biographies (frozen memory of evil, memory
of the isolated self, wounded memory, and reflective memory).

6. 1 Remembering 12 September

This chapter focuses on the question of how the collective is embedded in

individual narratives. I argue that the vital concepts, themes, and events of
commemorative practices are active in the reconstruction of the life stories.
Moreover, recent political upheavals (the 12 September trial, commemoration of
the 1977 massacre at Taksim Square, the particular interest of Kurdish politicians
in Diyarbakir Prison etc.) and cultural transformations (a TV series on the
revolutionary movement, social networking websites, memoirs and
autobiographies of the revolutionaries) are essential in the process of
remembering. I elaborate on the characteristics of the remembering of 12
September in four sections: historical continuity, resistance, perpetrators, and
narration of the 12 September. Within this structure of the section, similarities
between the characteristics of the commemorative practices (described in
Chapter 5), past and present circumstances (political, economic and cultural
circumstances, described in Chapter 4) and the life stories are underlined.

135

E. Karacan, Remembering the 1980 Turkish Military Coup dtat,

DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-11320-9_6, Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden 2016
6. 1. 1 Historical continuity: the spirit of the 68 generation

elbette trkiyede de en uzun kouysa devrim

o, onun en gzel yz metresini kotu
ilk o frlad lverden en sekmez mermisiynen
en hzlsyd hepimizin,
ilk o gsledi ipi...
Mare Nostrum/Can Ycel72

As discussed earlier in chapter two, Halbwachs, drawing on Durkheim's theory

of solidarity, argues that the collective memory is constructed from the need to
establish a common ground among the members of a group. Historical continuity
is in that sense essential for the group members' perception of the collective
identity. Remembering the past, therefore, is realized through the use of
mnemonic tools that have the function of reconstructing and strengthening this
agreed past of who we were in the past and who we are now.
The interviews I conducted have many similarities in constructing an
agreed past. However, in order to understand the need for historical continuity
I looked for commonalities in the narratives with the history of the previous
generation, namely the 68 generation, to see how continuity in time is provided.
To put it in Hobsbawm's words, I followed the narratives as they invented the
tradition of the Turkish revolutionary movement. In chapter 4, Historical
Background to 12 September, the 68 generation, the historical development of
the revolutionary movement, the most prominent characters of the 68
generation, the revolutionary leaders and their effect on the following generation
of '78 were described. Here, I want to focus on the narratives of the leaders of the
68 movement, and the symbols and myths of the generation.
In March 1972, when three THKO leaders, Deniz Gezmi, Yusuf Aslan and
Hseyin nan, were executed following the battle in Kzldere where leader of
THKP-C, Mahir ayan, was killed with other militants, most of the interviewees
were aged between 11 and 22. A year later, the leader of TKP/ML, brahim
Kaypakkaya, was killed under torture in Diyarbakir Prison. The effects of these
three historical events are embodied in the narratives of the 78 generation.
These events in particular are linked to a legitimate point of developing
sympathy towards the revolutionary movement:
It was my brothers. Of course, first it was the arrest of the Denizs. Those years I was in the
3rd class of the middle school at (School), in (location-city). When my brothers were exiled from
(location-city), from (location-town), from (location-another city) because of political events, I
went together with them where I started middle school. And when I was in the 3 rd class, the
Mahirs' protest against the Denizs' death I mean execution and their execution. Their
pictures were on the front page of the newspaper Tercman. I mean their pictures after they

72 A well-known poem by Can Ycel describing the executed leaders of the 68 generation, but the
poem is written especially for Deniz Gezmi.
136
 were bombed, I mean the pictures of the dead bodies and so on, they put those pictures. I
bought the newspaper, Tercman, and when I read, I was in the 3rd class of the middle school
but, an incredible in my world of feelings, an incredible, something I mean, was capsized. How
could this happen! Of course you start questioning how come these people were killed like this.
From time to time these questionings continue to come back, from childhood. So, I mean we
were politicized, with life, with struggle, so thats it (Ulus, m., 54, Germany, 2: 4-15).73

Like Ulus, who was 15 years old in 1972, Ercan emphasizes the innocence of the
executed revolutionaries as the first event which generated an interest in left-
wing politics when he too was 15 years old. While he was narrating his first
arrest by the police, after being followed for buying a legal leftist newspaper, he
describes the feelings and ideas with which he bought the newspaper, and what
he had to suffer afterwards. This sequence from Ercan's narrative is
argumentative, which I also interpret as an inner examination of how did
everything start, what was the very reason for me having had to suffer all these
things?
I was questioned for 11 days. Imagine. I mean there is (nothing), OK, Uhh... that was the event
broke everything in my relation with the state. I mean some adult men, you see yourself only as
a child. Where would I know? That because the Deniz Gezmis were executed there was a
feeling of disaffirm. I mean, their accepting to be hanged, to be executed, we didn't
understand them after all. I mean nobody did, neither the society, why these young men are
hanged, and we are, after all, the following generation, we all have questions about the future.
There are no hopeful signs for the future. I mean the conditions are limited to provide
possibilities for any kind of child to continue living (hayata atlmak). And, at that point, people
uhh... who have future (expectations), having such a battle with the state and hundreds of
thousands of young people, I mean the generation of the 68's, even if not to battle against the
state, affected us, this event, in some way. I mean we did not understand what was going on,
but ehh in somehow we had the feeling that they might have legitimate points. Ja? Otherwise,
why that, eeeh, would the young who have a brilliant future do such dangerous things. I mean
uhh, everybody (thought) somehow, there is something else going on here, otherwise why
would such smart guys, who are about to graduate from university, they wouldn't do such
things. At least there was such a feeling. As for that, their being hanged, their executions uh,
were perceived as injustice by my generation. I mean, they were thinking positive things, the
state was unjust to them. At least that was my feeling, ja? And it was that feeling actually, that
made me, that newspaper, to buy that leftist newspaper. Nothing more, ja? That was all. But did
I know a second person who is leftist? I am not sure (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 4: 10-30).

73 The names of the interviewees are pseudonyms. As stated previously, the interviews were
conducted in Turkish and, after the analysis of the data, translated into English. Knowing that every
translation is itself an interpretation, in order to stick to the interviewees structures of their
biographies, grammatical and syntactical slips, as well as the mistakes of the interviewees, were not
revised in translating. When English translations of Turkish terms, phrases and idioms were
inadequate to transfer the meaning, the Turkish original is given in brackets. Some interviewees used
German, or German terms or expressions; for instance, instead of saying yes in Turkish, using ja
in German. I have not translated these kinds of language shifts, but rather have given English
translations in brackets when necessary. Information about the biographers is given following each
quotation in the following order: pseudonym of the biographer, gender (M for Male, F for Female),
age, country of residence, interview page, lines (the numbering of the lines starts from the beginning
of each page).
137
Similarly, Aylin's memories of the executed revolutionaries are linked to her first
memories about her interest in politics, particularly in socialism and
communism, from the time she was 11 years old:
I mean, later, during my middle school or so, (our) neighbourhood was quite sensitive, quite
sensitive to the social and political upheavals. I mean, for example when the Deniz Gezmi(es)
were executed, I was probably 9 years old or so. I mean my memory about the execution of the
Denizs' is very blurred. And, the children were speaking to each other that they (the executed
leaders) used bad language about the soldiers, and so they were communists and they were
hanged, and so on (Aylin, f., 50, Turkey, 1: 20-24).

Thus, we actually met with socialism and communism. I mean I was 12 or so. And it was also a
very political thing, neighbourhood. My brothers were also. Our childhood, I mean, was very
dynamic. Especially, we took part in the acceleration after the executions of the Deniz
Gezmi(es). We are the 80s generation actually, but, even, we experienced those times during
our childhood, quite early (Aylin f., 50, Turkey, 1: 38-42).

What is emphasized in the narratives about the previous generation is not only
reasoning for the speakers own involvement in politics, which is obviously due
to the fact that the revolutionary groups of the 78 movement had organic links
with the previous generation, but also the characteristics of the leaders. Similarly,
in commemoration activities, these executed leaders are the myths and symbols
of the movement and images of them are often used in activities commemorating
12 September. The characteristics of the leaders of the 68 movement called the
Deniz Gezmi(es), Mahirs in the plural featured in these narratives are
innocence, youth, good will towards society, courage and the solidarity between
different guerrilla groups. In her book, The Past Time, Beatriz Sarlo (2012)
argues that putting emphasis on the youth of the militants executed during the
Argentinean junta regime is a common structure in recent discourse. She finds
that speaking of the 'executed youths' became a powerful motto, and was first
used by the mothers and grandmothers. The missing militants' youth has
hardened the image of them being idealist, innocent and brave (Sarlo 2012: 50).
Sarlo's argument can equally be applied to discourse about the executed
revolutionaries of the 68. Apart from their political thoughts, all the
interviewees remember them with sadness and with great respect. The common
memory of the executed revolutionaries in the commemorations has a similar
structure of them being remembered together, adopted and respected by all the
different factions as the symbols of the revolutionary movement in Turkey. The
basis of the common consciousness, as argued previously through Althusser, is
constructed on the legacy of the 68 generation, and the past of 12 September is
collectively remembered with the myths and symbols of the executed leaders.
Nevertheless, collective memory is not only a framework made out of
notions that serve as landmarks, but also a rational activity that takes its point
of departure in the conditions in which the society at the moment finds itself, in
other words in the present (Halbwachs 1992: 183). Considering the presentist
138
characteristics of collective memory, the criticisms of the 68 generation or the
executed leaders that emerge in some of the interviews need to be interpreted as
indicators of the biographers present situation. One of the interviewees, Ulus,
highlights the negative effects of the members of the 68 generation on recent
left-wing politics, and lyas criticises the ideological perspectives of the executed
leaders. Neither of these biographers are directly linked with any political
organization, but are only involved in the activities of civil rights organizations.
It might be assumed that separation from the group also provides independence
in perceiving the past, which is also a natural result of the absence of the need for
group solidarity.

6. 1. 2 Resistance

The memory of 12 September is above all the memory of violence. 'Violence

leaves traces' (Schramm 2011: 5) in consciousness, and in the case of 12
September the state practised violence through using both Ideological and
Repressive Apparatuses actively on the whole society. Nevertheless, the 70s
were years of rebellions and strikes, and protests based on political and economic
demands lasted until the military coup d'tat. Apart from the dominance of
violent events, in the case of the military coup the frequency of the events
weakens the memory. As Aristotle points out, memory does not occur in those
who are subject to much movement (2007: 30). When thinking of the 70s in
Turkey, we see that the resistance movements, as well as oppressions, became
part of daily life, routine incidents; that is, these upheavals were transformed into
ordinary events. For Cicero, ordinary things like sunrise and sunset are forgotten
quickly: 'even though they're marvellous, they occur everyday' (2007: 46).
Arrests, for example, are usually narrated in the interviews as expected events in
routine daily life. Therefore, the biographers tend not to refer to the violence they
experienced daily before the military coup in their narratives. Similarly, in the
second half of the 70s strikes, protests and demonstrations were widespread and
took place regularly. However, besides the protests that occurred daily, some
events, such as the Tari resistance, Fatsa, and the international labour day of
1977, played a significant role in the history of Turkey, and so they are
distinguished from the ordinary events of the 70s. In the interviews, these events
are reconstructed in two ways: as a part of the self-experienced life history in the
main narrative, or as a comment on the reasons for the military coup d'tat when
asked outside the narrated life story.
Aylin's memory of the Bloody 1 st of May Labour Day is told in
chronological order, following her narrative about her family, neighbourhood,
education and first involvement in political thought and activities. She narrates
the Bloody May Day with a comment on her and her friends youthfulness:

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 And I, finally, went to Istanbul in May 77. I was there on that bloody 1 st of May in stanbul and
I was 16 years old. I mean, I was in the first class of the high school, 16-17 years old. So to
say, that Istanbul 77, 1st of May, I mean, ehh [...] one even feels so terrible while telling (long
silence, she cries). I mean, I feel so sad, because, maybe, if we were to have this talk with you
a year ago, maybe I wouldn't have felt so sentimental. Because last year, I felt that I was going
to be very happy if I go to stanbul for the first of May to Taksim Square. And I went there with
a great will. But I couldn't feel happiness there, why... I don't know why, but I wasn't. Suddenly
I was back to thirty years ago. We had a teacher, (name-person), we were 16 years old. He was
one of our teachers at the school, even he was from the neighbourhood. There were thirty
bullets in his body on 1st of May of 77. I mean, he died there #00:09:55-5# (Aylin, f., 50,
Turkey, 2: 19-28).

There are two things that need to be noted in Aylin's narrative of 1 st of May 1977.
The first thing is the memory and space relationship and the second one is the
reconstruction of the past in the present. Before she was recently in Taksim
Square, she still had the memory of the massacre, but nevertheless her memories
were blurred. Her memories of the day were evoked by the material setting: 'I
don't know why, but I wasn't (happy). Suddenly I was back to thirty years ago.'
From the present perspective, Aylin remembers her participation in that event as
a child who was only 16 years old, and experiencing such a brutal massacre, the
dead body of her teacher, who was shot thirty times. She is aware of the fact that
her memory of the event came alive after her visit to Taksim Square, since she
says: if we were to have this talk with you a year ago, maybe I wouldn't have felt
so sentimental. Space preserves the memories of the past, and as Halbwachs
argues we can understand how we recapture the past only by understanding how
it is, in effect, preserved by our physical surroundings (1980: 140).
Other than in the narratives of self-experiences, the resistance movement
before 12 September is described while discussing the political reasons for the
military coup. The common understanding is that the strength of the resistance
movement with the participation of the masses frightened the supporters of the
regime. Additionally, some of the biographers argue that the adoption of neo-
liberal politics, and the implementation of the economic measures named the 24
January Measures, would not have been possible without oppressing the
resistance movement in society.
Certainly, there were higher demands, so to say workers, proletarians, office workers, the
whole society were politicized. To overcome this, but of course to apply the 24 January
measures, I mean it was not possible for them to continue with this level of society
organisation. Therefore, they did this coup d'tat, later applied the 24 January measures.
Beginning with Tari, I mean others, all over Turkey, a resistance at all institutions, factories,
offices, all over, with certain demands of the organisations (Ulus, m, 54, Germany, 26: 31-37).

In my opinion, in addition to what is said in Turkey I can say, 12 September was yes, the first
reason for the 12 September was to apply the 24 January measures in Turkey, which was
known that it wouldn't be possible in a democratic system. Eee, because they were quite radical
decisions. That is, foreign currency will increase three times, which means 200%, 300%
devaluation. Incomes were to be fixed, organizations were to be disrupted. I mean the strikes

140
 had to be stopped, at least we may think that it was only possible to do it in this way (Fikri, f.,
54, Turkey, 23: 32-37).

In the above quotations, it is seen that the biographers do not underestimate the
events of resistance, strikes, occupations and protests. They even argue that the
masses were involved in these activities all over Turkey, which was the ground
for the military coup d'tat. Why is it only narrated briefly then? My first
assumption is that it depends on the interviewees' perception of the concept 'life
story', which they consider something distinct, if not opposite, to politics.
Therefore, resistance events are not narrated unless they are self-experienced. In
addition, as mentioned earlier, the frequency of the political upheavals weakens
the memory of those events, since they were perceived as ordinary things. Lastly,
the memory of 12 September is based on victimhood, the memory of violence, as
it is reconstructed over and over in the commemorations, and this construction is
followed by the biographers.

6. 1. 3 Perpetrators

Halbwachs argues that collective memory is constructed within frameworks such

as family, school and religion, as well as time and space. I have argued that what
Halbwachs defines as collective memory is thinking and acting in a way which is
being reconstructed by present conditions, but through the past. Althusser,
similarly, discusses these frameworks and their effect on 'shaping' the thought
and acts of subjects. These frameworks are, for Althusser, structured and
moderated by the State Apparatus, of which he distinguishes two parts:
Repressive (the courts, the police, the army, prisons); and Ideological (family,
education, religion), which usually act together. In the case of 12 September, as
shown in Chapter 4, we see the oppression of society by both Repressive State
Apparatuses (RSAs) and Ideological State Apparatuses (ISAs). While the
revolutionaries and any kind of opposition to the junta regime were brutally
oppressed by the army, the police and the courts, through changes to the legal
system, education and broadcasting, the aim was to modify cultural, political and
economic life.
The revolutionaries experienced the application of both ISAs and RSAs
during their imprisonment. Hence, I focus on narratives of both brutal physical
violence and ideological violence, as well as on the image of the perpetrators. In
doing so, I would like to provide a discussion of how ISAs and RSAs in
Halbwachs terms, the frameworks which are imposed on us leave traces in the
memory.

141
Physical Violence

The narratives of physical violence can be summarized in two stages: first, the
period of the arrest; and second a period of questioning and imprisonment with
violence continued to oppress rebellions in the prisons. The majority of the
biographers I interviewed were imprisoned in police stations, military prisons, or
regular prisons. Physical violence took place in each institution at different
levels. However, some of the prisons and names of the perpetrators are
mentioned frequently. Diyarbakir, Mamak and Metris prisons are mentioned as
the ones where the most brutal violence was experienced. Women's narratives
also include the DAL (Derin Aratrma Laboratuvar, The Laboratory of Depth
Investigation) institute, which was part of the Unit of Struggle Against Terrorism
(Terrle Mcadele).
The commonalities of the narratives regarding the structure of the physical
violence the biographers experienced show that the perpetrators followed
systematic methods of torturing, and they were provided with torture equipment
and knowledge about human physiology and behaviour. According to the
narratives, the perpetrators were able to observe the reactions of the human body
when torturing with electricity or ice-cold water, and they cured the
revolutionaries when they faced a risk of death. This way they could continue
torturing again. The perpetrators were also trained in torturing without leaving
any external visible marks on bodies, whereas the internal body organs were
destroyed. Dilek's narrative of his torture shows how systematic the perpetrators'
acts were:
they put me in a cell for one. They started to keep me there. Of course they did not give any
food in the first period. uhh, that time, really, the first three-five days were quite important for
them. That is, ehh they aimed to weaken your strength and get what they want from you in these
first three-five days. And to each person they were saying you cannot get out of here, unless
you tell us the names of five, and five guns. At the end the operations were common because
the tortures were very common and violent. So to say, eeh, because it was really, especially if
you were not ideologically strong enough, it was not easy to stand. Many were new (in the
revolutionary movement), they were impressed by their mothers, fathers, siblings. I mean they
didn't know yet the reality of the state. Therefore, the tortures were quite dense in the early
periods, not to be released without telling five names, five guns. Almost every single day they
used to torture. uhh, and I, for instance, in the (cell) started to scratch crosses, to know how
long, in my cell, I was going to stay, what was going to happen and so on, like this, I started to
scratch crosses. Of course the crosses had no end and after 25 days I gave up. I thought this
will never end. Ehh of course, they were torturing daily. Especially, the most frequent was foot
beating. Foot beating was often used. They used to do it until your feet burst, in the end one
could not walk. Using electricity was common. There was something they called 'beating
together' (meydan daya). A team put you into the middle, and hits one by one. One pushes to
another, one pushes you to the wall, one hits with a stick, and so on. Ehh they did everything,
they applied them all and of course it is also terrifying to be all alone. You have nobody
around. To stay in a cell by yourself also affects you in a negative way. And it was really a
place where you could hear the screams of people under torture for 24 hours a day. They were
working in shifts. They were working in three shifts. Like a factory. It was really a torture
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 factory, has to be put like this. What was the result? Eeh they were producing psychologically
and physically abused people there, that is, that was what they aimed for (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey,
5: 26-48).

Perpetrators firstly aimed to get information about the activities of the arrested
revolutionary, and secondly they wanted information about other revolutionaries,
about the networks. To reach the aim of getting more information, brutal physical
violence was followed by humiliation, destruction of the perception of time,
being left in isolation and in the end by destroying the victims' self-respect. The
same strategies can be seen in other narratives. Moreover, the request 'give us 5
names and 5 guns', which is repeated by other biographers, also gives the
impression that the perpetrators all over the country followed a single order.
Another example is Hakan's narrative of his torture:
They took me into a room and in an awful way, brutally, (started to) kick, hit and punch with
those chest expanders, with fitness equipment. With those expanders, whatever they had, they
hit (me), you wouldn't believe. They shock you, you know, you get confused about what is
happening to you. Then, you have to give me that many guns and names. Do you know that
man? They were asking me about the man who had the note actually, but I really didn't know
his name. I know him but I don't know his name. They also ask the name. I (didn't know) who
he is. They hit me terribly and when I hit the ground someone pushed on my back and I felt my
back on the ground, I mean. I felt that I was that much stuck to the floor (Hakan, m., 53,
Turkey, 20: 23-28).

Some biographers were also requested to make an appointment with their

comrades in a place arranged by the perpetrators. Since refusing this request
meant more trouble, some interviewees preferred to make fake appointments, or
they just planned to escape in this way. Hakan was arrested after one of these
appointments. Fikri's story is an example of this, he planned to escape after
making a fake appointment but he was shot in the legs and arrested again.
The feeling of guilt was strengthened by making revolutionaries hear each
others screams during the torture sessions, which is mentioned in the narratives
as more painful than the your own torture. Dilek narrates this feeling of guilt
generated from others being tortured as follows:
I mean there was such a feeling, you hear the footsteps, the sound of the keys, so you think he is
coming to take me. Naturally, you are scared each time they come, but also each time you take
the decision to resist by yourself. That is what I think, I mean. The sound of the footsteps, they
either take you and hit you brutally (hnla eziyorlar), or someone from one of the next cells.
Then you think ohh they did not take me now you get a bit, like a bit relaxed, later you feel
ashamed of that feeling of relaxation. Because they took someone next to you, and you hear
his/her screams. I mean, anyway you would feel the same pain, same anxiety whether they take
you or others (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey, 5: 48-50, 6: 1-5).

In some narratives another method of emotional torture used by the perpetrators

is recounted: being tortured before a family member, or being forced to witness a
family member being tortured. For instance, Ercan was questioned together with
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his wife and five-month old baby. Similarly, lyas was often threatened that the
perpetrators would abuse his wife, and she was often brought to watch him being
tortured. Family members were used to torture revolutionaries emotionally, and it
left deep marks in their memory. These experiences are remembered with a
mixture of feelings, led by guilt: they suffered because of me. Aylin's father
was tortured to make him reveal where she was hidden. Although he was not
involved in any political organization, and did not take part in any organizations'
activities, he was questioned under torture. The feeling of guilt resulted in
interruptions in Aylin's narrative, and she refers to her father respectfully and
with great appreciation in most of the sequences. She tells the story like this:
For instance, my father, he protected my child, and they took my father and brought him to the
police station. And they tortured my father badly. They asked my father so brother (amca
diyorlarm) tell us how many children you have? He goes on: Ali, Batuhan, Fadime, Gnl.
Count them again, brother. So did my father, again the same four names. What about Aylin,
who is she? He said but she married without my will, to a man I did not approve. And she is
gone, so I rejected her as my daughter (onu evlatlktan reddettim). Of course, the police did
not believe this (polisler bunu yememi.) They hit my father terribly. When I met my father first,
I mean, he had all his body covered. It was winter time, he had a coat and so on. I told him
Dad we met in a very warm place, so take off this scarf and so. But he didn't. Later when I
took them off, after insisting, I saw that his whole neck and so, his face, around his ears were
turned purple. Apparently, he was terribly tortured at the police station; I mean they did it only
to learn where I was. And my father told me so I don't know what your crime is, but whatever
it is, don't give yourself up (Aylin, f., 50, 4: 27-41).

The period of questioning is remembered as the time when the revolutionaries

experienced the most brutal violence. Some of the narrators experienced
difficulty in verbalizing their memory of this period. Words were insufficient to
express the physical tortures, the horror they had to suffer, for some of the
biographers, so they preferred to recount this period by referring to books and
films where similar horrors were portrayed: it was like in that film Missing off
Costa Gavras. Some narrators referred to the Vietnam War, the Holocaust or
Nazi Germany to describe how terrifying the violence they experienced was:
Just think about the Jews during the Hitler period, as a picture, between two
soldiers. Walter Benjamin, in his essay The Storyteller (1936), discusses the
difficulty of narrating bodily experience and points out that it was noticeable at
the end of the war that men returned from the battlefield grown silent not
richer, but poorer in communicable experience . According to Sarlo, this is the
result of the shock, which destroyed the experience itself by destroying the
ability to narrate it. She writes that the shock experienced was too powerful for
the little defenceless human body (2012: 21-22). In the biographies of the
revolutionaries, despite the limits of language, the bodily experience of brutal
violence could be perceived throughout the narrative. The narrators were aware

144
of the difficulty of relating their experiences directly74, or they faced a lack of
words to define their sorrows, feelings and thoughts. Nevertheless, with
references to historical events, films, and books they sought to be understood by
their audience. An absence of words does not generate a poverty of
'communicable experience'; rather it entails a richer communication, where body
gestures, voice and mime are more involved than ever.

Destruction of Self-Esteem

Both during the questioning period, but especially in the prisons, treatments
which aimed to destroy the self-esteem of the revolutionaries were repeatedly
recounted in the interviews. Military discipline, such as requiring prisoners to
wear uniforms, or to salute the commanders, and resistance against these
obligations are one of the main themes. To understand why this discipline was so
strongly resisted, even with hunger strikes, and why it was important for the
junta regime to enforce it, I would first like to provide a closer look at the
structure of the narratives about this discipline and resistance against it. Ulus
tells how the military discipline in Metris Prison, stanbul ended with a hunger
strike:
So, torture and oppression in Metris, so everything is known. So, there, with friends, with the
others in the prison we continued to resist. Against all that extortion of rights, and so. There
they made us wear a uniform (tek tip elbise uydurmular), that military discipline, National
Anthem, praying ceremony before meals, I mean thousands of orders. To resist these, a hunger
strike was organized in July or August of 1983 (Ulus, m., 54, Germany, 7: 17-22).

Nizam's memories of military discipline in Samalclar Prison, stanbul, and of

how the prisoners resisted are narrated fluently. In his narrative he also shows
how the prisoners were deprived of their basic rights, such as attending their own
trials, having a visitor, or meeting their lawyers:
And later they started to send more people to Samalclar. And at that time they started to insist
on uniforms in January 84. I never forget, 15 th of January 1984. They started to force (us to
wear) uniforms on 15th of January. Ehh they broke into each ward, although we explained
openly that we were not going to wear uniforms. They took all our daily clothes, only left our
underwear. Ehh they left the underwear and sportswear and pullovers. They took all of the rest
and left green khaki colour uniforms and hit us (word is missing) and then went out. We, of
course, tore up the clothes they left immediately and threw them away. Ehh, by the way they
forbade visits from lawyers and family members, when we had to go to the trials or to the
hospital, only the ones who accepted to wear uniform were allowed, the ones who didn't accept
were not allowed (Nizam, m., 53, Turkey, 5: 25-33).

74 For instance, Ercan, whose biography will be analyzed in detail, mentions the limits of words and
of the possibility of narrating tortures experienced. He says: uhh the words have limits, there is a limit
to narrating, ja. It is only possible to narrate within certain limits.
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Interestingly, this military discipline started in the prisons not during the junta
regime, but after the civil government was elected in 1983. This contradiction is
emphasized in Fikris narrative:
Turgut zal won the elections, and democracy was established, the uniform operation started.
From time to time, already there were hunger strikes for 3-4 days, and we, just after democracy
was established by the elections on 6th of November, the operations started. They ordered us to
wear uniforms. Eeh, (my legs) were still in plaster casts. Ehh I still remember a soldier asking
his commander Sir, how should we make him wear it? (laughs) (Fikri, m, 54, Turkey, 13: 12-
16).

Although the punishments which limited the prisoners legal and social rights
were meant as deterrents, the narrators are proud of their resistance against these
military obligations. On their part, they knew that they had to suffer terrible
things, including physical violence, but nevertheless they considered this
discipline, and did so still at the time of the interviews, to be humiliating, to
destroy their self-esteem. This was the very reason for insisting on not singing
the national anthem, not praying before meals, not saluting the commanders or
wearing the uniforms, even though the price of the resistance would be being
forced to do other things that they would not have done in 'normal' times, such as
tearing their uniforms off in court and standing naked, or being forced to eat
pigeon:
Because of this, we were again left without food for ten days in the wings. Because there were
no visitors. Eeh and, with this operation the prison administration separated the ones who
agreed to wear uniforms. But, there weren't any. If there were, they were already separated
from the leftist groups long before. Eeh, they started these kind of rules at resisting wards; no
sugar, no butter, no meat, no fruit. Eeh, since we drink it with sugar, we couldn't drink tea
either // only for the resisting wards? // of course. Eee, explicitly. It may sound simple, but after
a while, after 15-20 days, even if you eat a lot you would still feel hungry. We never felt full.
Eee, once, that time we kept it secret, didn't tell anyone but, ee there were traps set up for the
pigeons on the windows. From that window, if I am not mistaken, 3 pigeons were hunted. They
ask what is this? Dove. Friends shared the work between them. Some butchered, some
cleaned the feathers, some washed. Eeh, of course they have to be cooked. Eee how can we
cook, we had a bucket in the bath, our regular bath bucket, and electrical resistances and
cables we had hidden. And at night when it was quiet, they were cooked in the bath bucket, and
made delicious sandwiches with the old bread and spices we kept earlier. Ehh, this was only
because of the hunger. I mean, when you think of it now, the bucket is disgusting, pigeon is
disgusting, and so. It was a delicious feast (Fikri, m., 54, Turkey, 13: 17-32).

The military discipline in the prisons was resisted with hunger strikes, which
after 45 days turned into a death strike, with four prisoners losing their lives. The
strikes, which started towards the end of 1983, were made against the uniform
requirement, to obtain social and legal rights, and for the restoration of prison
conditions. When the strikes finished in 1986, some of the prisoners' demands,

146
such as cancellation of the uniform requirement, were accepted.75
Women prisoners recounted that they were not forced to wear uniforms, but
were forced to obey military regulations, such as saluting the commanders. In the
narratives of women revolutionaries, changes in their physical appearance and
hygiene issues are often mentioned as sources of humiliation. Dilek and Leman
narrate repressions aimed at destroying the body perceptions of the women, and
how they were tortured via hegemonic understanding of femininity:
I mean my appearance was really terrifying. Even once, one policeman made me look into a
mirror. It was the 15th day or so, he told me open your eyes, look at the mirror, really, I was
terrified of my own thing (appearance). I mean, I had long hair that time. Later, I could never
have long hair for a long time, because of that psychology. It was for me a thing of torture, the
thing that helps to torture. In fact I liked my hair very much, it reached my shoulders, I used to
weave my hair. For me, it became a torture instrument, it turned to an organ that provided
torture for me. It was, of course kinky, ehh, besides, my eyes were injured, my lips were
bruised, all my body became purple. So to say, I myself was scared of my own thing (image).
So, it is to destroy your psychology: see what you look like. Nobody would find you attractive
anymore. You can't give birth from now on. You are no worth as a woman they were
oppressing in such a way (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey, 6: 26-36).

In the women's ward we were not forced to wear uniform. But one day, soldiers came and told
us: you are going to have haircuts. I had long hair, can show you the photos, long till here.
There are many friends who had long hair like me. Actually, it is good to have hair cut for us,
because they gave only a glass of water every 24 hours. But everything has to be done with it;
drinking, washing the hands and face, brushing the teeth, excuse my language, toilet and
wiping your buttocks. For everything. Water is a serious problem. But every morning, every
morning, no exception, every morning we cleaned the blood in the halls. We scratched the
blood in the halls and walls. This, the humanity, I mean this, this... I can't consider such a thing
would be part of humanity.//Hh// #02:36:38-8# So it was good to have a haircut, because we
had the problem of having enough water. Often we were infested with lice. But of course, this
was a... a method of torture. And that was so difficult to accept (Leman, f., 49, Germany, 14:
39-45, 15: 1-2).

The perpetrators' perception of sexuality, which positioned women as objects of

the male gaze (you are not attractive any more, see what you look like) and
reduced women's bodies to infertility (you can't even give birth, you are nothing
as a woman) resulted in a prominent difference in torturing between the sexes.
Besides physical torture, women were tortured with oppression of their
perceptions of their own bodies. That is, they experienced torture both as
revolutionaries and as women. Dilek narrates how she felt about her appearance
when she first saw people other than the perpetrators at the hospital. Although
she was there because of the severe torture she had experienced, and had been
taken to the hospital by the perpetrators because she was still under questioning,
she was concerned about her image as a woman:

75 For more information about the hunger strikes in Metris Prison see: http:// www .yuruyus .com
/www /turkish/news.php?h_newsid=83&dergi_sayi_no=3& (accessed 30 June 2013).
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 See, I never forget, there was a nurse called A., dainty type, nice, young woman. Ehh, I was
really, they took me in a terrible situation, not human like (insanlktan km halde getirdiler.)
Ehh, after having the most brutal torture for about a month. Ehh, naturally when she saw me
she was terrified: what kind of brutality. How could they do such a thing to a human (bu
kadar vicdanszlk olur mu, bi insan bu hale nasl getirilebilir). Still her voice is in my (mind)
really, I remember. Of course, I was really, I had head lice infestation, my hair was messy, all
my body had wounds. And my underwear was not changed for a month. I mean to clean the
backside, I mean I could not wash with my arms. So to say I go to toilet, wipe out half way, or
could not wipe and so on. I mean, there is nasty smell. Your clothes are dirty, blood... Ehh, hair
on your body grew (tylenmisin) I mean you don't feel comfortable (kendine
yaktramyorsun). Despite a kind of, human life, ehh, so, with such a body like an animal's, it
is all in dirt, mess. I still remember, I mean, ashamed please excuse me, my body is nasty, I
feel so terrible. I am looking for a human thing (response). Besides, of course, you wouldn't
like to be seen like that by a person. I mean you are a human, you would like to be seen as
clean, beautiful, and so... Yes, and I try to hide myself like this: Please excuse me, I am in a
terrible situation. I still remember, she had a husband at that time, and her husband was a
young doctor there. I forgot his name. He came and saw (me) too. Ehh, later, they said, they
said you should not be the one who has to be ashamed, it is the ones who did this to you
#00:49:26-1# (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey, 9: 34-48, 10: 1-3).

The traces of feeling ashamed and humiliated lie deep in memory. They are as
deep as the physical violence experienced, or even deeper. As Connerton argues
in his article about types of forgetting, occasions of humiliation are so difficult
to forget; it is often easier to forget physical pain than to forget humiliation
(2008: 67). Connerton's argument also helps us to understand the dilemma
between obedience and resistance which is recounted by women prisoners. In the
narratives about military discipline, women told me that they were hit on the
hands when they refused to salute the commander. Nevertheless, they continued
to resist saluting, and held out their hands to be hit. They were shocked by this
memory: on the one hand they resisted, but on the other they complied with the
physical punishment.
While assuming that sexual harassment or humiliation of sexuality were
also ways of torturing male revolutionaries, the issue did not come up directly in
the mens narratives, but it was narrated by the women. This may be the result of
a general difference in relating experiences related to the body, the perception of
the body, and sexuality. Another, and more probable explanation could concern
the interaction between interviewer and the interviewees: women were more
comfortable talking to a woman. Men probably found it difficult to narrate the
physical violence and sexual harassment or humiliation they experienced to a
woman researcher.

Spatial Framework of Memory of the Imprisonment

The prisons, as an important Repressive State Apparatus, existed not only for
discipline and punishment, but as I found in the narratives of the revolutionaries,
prisons were places of domination of the state ideology to manipulate the

148
collective identity of the prisoners. Obligations such as singing the national
anthem, praying before supper and reading out loud the principles of Mustafa
Kemal Atatrk were the symbols of the ideology of the new state established by
the junta, which was basically nationalist, and religious within the limits of
laicism. In public spaces, this newly adopted ideology was presented by erecting
statues of Kemal Atatrk, while at the same time establishing high schools for
religious education. Meanwhile, in the prisons the oppression included physical
violence, since the majority of the prisoners were considered potential
opponents. As mentioned in the previous sections, this oppression, especially
when aimed at ideological manipulation and military discipline, was resisted
with protests and hunger strikes, even to the extent of risking death. In the
narratives of the prisoners, the memories of the oppressions and rebellions are
marks of the memory of the past. Events are ordered with the help of these
marks, such as it was after the hunger strike in 1986.
Discipline such as wearing uniforms had the symbolic meaning of
constructing a single collective identity as approved and prescribed by the State
apparatus. Any differences (of identity, ethnicity or religion) were therefore
repressed severely. Hakan (53, m., Turkey) tells of an Armenian friend at the
Samalclar prison, who most of the time was kept in a cell, as experiencing the
worst of the tortures. He says that at the time of his imprisonment he did not
understand why this Armenian prisoner in particular was beaten after each
rebellion. Efe's (52, m., Turkey) experience in Mamak Prison is a well-known
story in Turkey, and is often referred to to illustrate the racism of the
perpetrators. When his mother, who could only speak Kurdish, visited him in
prison she was not allowed to speak Kurdish. Therefore, during the visit she
could only say one sentence in Turkish: Efe Gney, how are you, which she
learned on her way to the prison. Similarly, at Diyarbakir Prison, where the
majority of the prisoners were from Kurdish cities, the prisoners were forced to
communicate only in Turkish, and also the visitors had to obey the rules. As in
the testimonies of witnesses at the commemorations, in the biographical
narratives the interviewees said that in the visitors' cabins a sign about the
language restriction said speak in Turkish, speak more.
I interviewed a couple who were imprisoned at Diyarbakr Prison Leman
(49, f., Germany) and Fuat (54, m., Germany) in Berlin in December 2010.
They went into exile in 2000, and have a son who at the time of the interview
was 10 years old. Fuat was first arrested when he was 16 years old and
imprisoned at Diyarbakr Prison for one and a half years. After the military coup
he was arrested again and imprisoned at Diyarbakr Prison for more than seven
years. Leman was arrested shortly before the coup d'tat in Ankara, and sent to
Diyarbakr Prison, where she was interned for six years. Fuat avoided talking
about his experiences in prison by pointing out that he did not experience the
most brutal period of the prison, since the rebellion started shortly before his

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arrest. He mentioned that during the first years of his imprisonment the prisoners
used to talk about the brutality they had experienced before the resistance; after a
few years the stories about brutality had become blurred and were replaced with
the memories of rebellions.
In contrast to Fuat, Leman's narrative of her imprisonment at the Diyarbakr
Prison is a long and detailed sequence. 'Turkization' operations, which were
carried out at other military prisons, especially Metris, Mamak and Samalclar,
appear to have been the main strategy of the military at the Diyarbakr Prison.
Similar to the narratives of victims and witnesses at the commemorations,
documentaries and witness testimony days, the first image of the prison Leman
could recall was nationalist quotations from speeches by Mustafa Kemal Atatrk
and Turkish flags. Leman related that they would start an ordinary day at six in
the morning, having breakfast of soup and making the beds in the dormitories,
which, including the breakfast, had to be done in fifteen minutes. Later, prisoners
were obliged to attend 'observed education' (nazar eitim) which consisted of
Kemalism and Islam. Her narrative is as follows:
Soon after, the observed education would start. Observed education is, you know, principles of
Mustafa Kemal, eeh, religion course, learn to be muslim, but mostly Kemalism, the history of
the revolution (Kemalist Revolution) and so on. The theory of it was taught. Some would read,
mostly the representative of the wing would read and the others would repeat after, listen. After,
eeh, in the wings there would be workmen training (amele eitimi) on the place you stand,
where you stand you start military marching, but you have to pull your knees back to the chest.
But now (you have to sing) all the Kemalist things you know, anthems, national sacrament, I
don't know, the national anthem. If you don't know, you have to learn. There were people who
didn't speak Turkish (Leman, f., 49, Germany, 12: 13-19).

The operations oppressing revolutionaries in terms of ethnicity, religion and

language were attempts to legitimize the power of the newly established political
system. The junta regime was re-inventing its 'tradition' based on the principles
of Kemalism and Islamism. The desired citizen of this new system was Turkish,
Sunni Muslim and committed to Kemalism. In this regard, the revolutionaries
and revolutionary movement were considered threats, and were repressed both
physically and ideologically. Leman, while evaluating her past experiences
emphasized the aim of destroying the collective identity. In her experience it was
the Kurdish nation which was the target of the perpetrators at the Diyarbakr
Prison:
So to say, the Diyarbakr Prison was not opened incidentally. It was really a plan to destroy a
nation (Kurdish nation), it was opened with this plan. I mean I am not making political
propaganda. It really was the case (Leman, f., 49, Germany, 14: 15-17).

What Leman and many other Kurdish prisoners experienced at the Diyarbakr
Prison was a reflection of the junta's politics to oppress the identity of minorities,

150
which were not limited to those with Kurdish identity. 76 According to the 1982
constitution, issue numbers 26 and 28, freedom of speech was restricted to the
Turkish language, as publication, singing or communicating in any other
languages were prohibited.77 Even before the 1982 constitution was announced,
in 1981 an ex-member of the previous parliament erafettin Eli was punished
with one years imprisonment by a military court because of his response in an
interview: There are Kurds in Turkey. I am a Kurd (zbudun, Demirer 2005:
25).

6. 1. 4 Narrating 12 September

Both in Turkey and Germany, the interviewees narratives have commonalities

concerning the reasons for 12 September and the junta's main aim in
overthrowing the government. Although I interviewed revolutionaries from
various organizations, similarities in their reasoning even the phrases and
terminology used are alike show that the topic had often been discussed by the
revolutionaries at common events. It is possible to sort the narratives about the
causes and the effects of 12 September into four groups, which are also related
with each other: the first line of reasoning is based on the military forces' fear of
the power of the revolutionary movement and the support of the masses; the
second is based on the widespread violent events taking place; another argument
is the economic one; 'the intervention was necessary in order to perform the 24
January measures;' and the last argument posits international cooperation with
the aim of establishing a new world order: 'the coup was part of the imperialist
countries' plan to restructure the world.'
Although, in most of the cases, the achievements and victories of the
revolutionary movement of the 70s are not mentioned in the main narrative,
when asked about the causes of the military coup, biographers talk about the
strong class consciousness, solidarity and support of the masses for the
revolutionary movement. They argue that such a strong socialist movement was
perceived as a threat, and so the military, to stop the movement, overthrew the
government. This argument is linked to the acts of violence between opposing
groups, and also among the members of the leftist groups. Accordingly, the
military feared a socialist revolution, but to legitimise a coup d'tat supported the
militants (especially the members of the nationalist Grey Wolves groups), and
planned massacres. Ulus, for example, discusses the involvement of the people in

76 For a detailed discussion of the politics of the junta regime, especially criticism of Kemalism,
which was reinforced by the activities of the junta institutions and the new constitution, see: Fikret
Bakaya, Paradigmann flas, zgr niversite Kitapl; stanbul, 2012.
77 Law number 2932 regarding the prohibition of facilities and publications which support languages
other than Turkish as mother tongue was passed on 19 October 1983 and was in use until the change
in 1991. See the bill of law based on these issues: http:// www2 .tbmm. gov.tr/d23/2/2-0413.pdf
151
demonstrations and strikes by giving examples from some historical events. He
continues this narrative with the battle between opposing groups and the state's
involvement in this conflict:
In short, the country was totally into, it was divided into two poles and it was always about to
have fascist attacks. In cooperation with the state, I mean the police is in cooperation with the
Grey Wolves. Every day some were killed at schools, and there. I mean people from each group
(yani karlkl insanlar). So to say a chaos. Who killed whom, and why is not clear. Factories
were already (supporting) the resistance. A total, [...] chaos, it is a progress to, now you
understand it better. I mean how the coup members of the 12 September did this on purpose, it
is Ergenekon (counter-guerrilla). When you think what they tell, what they did, they obviously
planned this thing (Ulus, m., 54, Germany, 26: 21-26).

Similar to Ulus, Atiye and Dilek discuss the provocative events which
constructed the legitimising grounds for the military's action.
So many provocations: 1st of May 1977, later the massacres in orum and Mara. Besides the
murders of the intellectuals, etc. Every day, something, a battle between the sisters and
brothers, and so on. A legitimisation of the military, in society; they are killing each other, we
will end this battle between brothers. But, actually, they were the provocations of the state to
block the developing struggle. Because there were about 350 thousand, 400 thousand workers
on strike and people had really political demands (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey, 4: 17-23).

There was a great activism in the country. After all, the 12 September had a purpose, really (12
Eyll bouna gelmedi). Since the 12 September was known about, it was difficult to wait longer.
Therefore they prepared the thing for it, practically prepared the ground for it. Bombings of
coffeehouses, battle between left and right groups, things done today they all come off.
Recently, also Ecevit told in his memoir, what kind of things were done, they were all planned
by the National Security Council and the general staff.

...

After the 12 September, it was propagandized that brothers will not kill each other any more
(karde kan artk akmayacak) (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 7: 10-20).

The revolutionaries emphasize that the conflicts and massacres were planned and
even supported to provide a legitimate ground for a military coup d'tat. The
author of this plan is often not clearly identified. In some narratives, such as
Dilek's, it is the state which planned massacres and made provocations, in Ulus'
narrative it is the police and the Grey Wolves, whereas in some it is simply 'they'
which is even more blurred. This confusion about the 'evil planner' might have
resulted from two things: the revolutionaries assumed that the interviewer also
had an idea of who this 'evil' was and did not need to mention it; or more
possibly the revolutionaries themselves are confused about the 'real' authors of
what had been suffered. In commemorative events, the main figures in the coup
are Kenan Evren (general of the junta), Turgut zal (the first prime minister after
the junta regime), and more generally international organizations (the IMF and
World Bank), or imperialists, the CIA and interests in the USA. As I showed in
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chapter four, some historians (Zrcher 2004; Ahmad 1993) and economists
(Boratav 2007; Yalman 2010) point to the role of the nationalist Grey Wolves'
involvement in the battles and the governments' support for these groups, and in
a wider perspective the financial causes of the coup on a global scale and the
interests of the imperialists are emphasized. Since there has been no efficient
trial of the perpetrators and junta members held in the country, these arguments
appear in the form of conspiracy theories in the narratives. When considered
together with the discussions of historians and economists, however, it can be
observed that the narratives about the causes and results of 12 September share
some common ground, despite the ambiguity in the definition of the sources of
the brutality. For instance, Nizam and Fikri argue that, besides all the other
reasons on the national scale, the coup was a part of an international conflict
between the imperialists:
It was social engineering. This wasn't something that could be brought off by the 12 September
generals. It was a part of the capitalist economic system's project of the politics of designing
the world in the region, in Turkey. uhh and I think they were quite successful in this [...]
(Nizam, m., 53, Turkey, 11: 32-36).

First of all, yes, the reason for the 12 September in Turkey was that practising the 24 January
measures would've not been possible in a democratic society and this was known. Eeh, because
they were quite heavy measures. The foreign currency had to increase three times, which means
devaluation about 200%-300%. Salaries were to be stopped, organizations had to be
destroyed. Because at the end you have to stop the strikes. We may say that it was only possible
like this. But, I don't know if there are any studies about it or not, and mine is not based on any
specific study, but I think this was one of the projects of the world capitalist system to stop the
Soviet Union (Fikri, m., 54, Turkey, 23: 32-39).

I don't think that it was so simple as if Vehbi Ko wanted the 24 January measures to be
carried out. Obviously it was a bigger project of the imperialist capitalist project in the world.
Therefore, it seems like, we were not beaten only for the Turkish bourgeoisie, but also beaten
for each American, French, British, German (laughs). This is my opinion (Fikri, m., 54, Turkey,
24: 29-33).

Some of the biographers also argue that the juntas oppression gave rise to self-
criticism, and indirectly strengthened the Kurdish movement, particularly the
PKK (Kurdistan Workers' Party). Suppression of Kurdish identity and the
oppressive nationalist politics of the junta institutions, especially at Diyarbakir
Prison, where many Kurdish intellectuals along with Turkish revolutionaries
were brutally tortured, involuntarily strengthened the Kurdish Independence
Movement. Fuat (m., 54, Germany) argues that the measures in the prisons made
self-criticism necessary for the revolutionary organizations which created the
basis for the left-wing parties founded in the 1990s. He adds, Surely, the
Diyarbakr Prison, developed particularly the.., it developed the PKK a lot
(Fuat, p. 4; 45). The state violence at the Diyarbakr Prison and its effects on the
rebellion have also been referred to recently at the commemorations, meetings

153
and conferences. Therefore, the prison gained a symbolic meaning for the
Kurdish movement and many demand its transformation into a museum.
What is distinct from the collective events is the criticism and evaluation of
the revolutionary movement that the biographers voice in the interviews in terms
of the reasons and effects of the coup. It is mainly argued that although the
groups were expecting a military coup towards the end of the 70s, the
organizations were deficient in taking the necessary preventive steps. A second
criticism is about the lack of resistance against the junta regime, although the
revolutionary movement was strong enough to resist. However, some of the
revolutionaries argue that the movement was not as powerful as was thought,
since many only had sympathy towards the movement as a result of its populist
discourse. Using the terms employed by the biographers, the revolutionary
movement was perceived by many as 'trendy', and thus the interest of the masses
towards it only lasted until the 'new look' was marketed:
The development (of the moment) was rapid. This rapid development had such disadvantages
of course; that is, it was not a political engagement as a result of understanding the problem,
adopting and internalizing it, but rather a rapid engagement. I mean, ehh, almost none of the
ones who engaged in the struggle knew about how a struggle against the state should be, what
is going to happen at the end, or what could be done by the state, to what extent the state would
have connections with the imperialists (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey, 4: 15-20).

Until 1980, it was a trend, a fashion. So to say, it was a trend to be a socialist. And also, the
youth found life in the socialist groups. Because life was more vivid, more enjoyable. You go to
the theatre, entertainment, to the meetings, drinking events with friends (kendi aranda iki
meclisleri yapyorsun). There is no such thing with fascists (Ilyas, m., 61, Germany, 23: 10-13).

Finally, the last point made by the biographers is that the multiplicity of the
movement and its inner tensions weakened its will to collaborate; thus the
military did not face any kind of resistance. Unlike the above self-criticisms, this
one concerning the inner conflicts among the revolutionary groups is often
discussed at the conferences or groups' meetings about 12 September. The
diversity of the socialist and communist groups, and the battle between them is,
however, argued by some authors to be an indicator of the strength of the
revolutionary movement. Hence, Aykol (2010), who authored a book about the
history of left-wing organizations in Turkey, entitled it Left Organizations in
Turkey: Growing by Splitting up (Trkiye'de Sol rgtler Blne Blne
Bymek). Nevertheless, the revolutionaries I interviewed focus on the
disadvantages of the divided structure of the movement:
Another thing, the second thing is now, one of the things that eased our defeat at that time is
that there was no friendship between any of the organizations. They were all against each
other, all killed many from each other's organization, they all refused to have any kind of
connection (aralarna duvar rm), and they could never act together (kolaylkla bir araya
gelemeyecek yaplar). They all remained like small islands when the junta overthrew the
government (cunta geldii zaman) (lyas, m., 61, Germany, 23: 40-43).

154
It is worth mentioning that none of these self-criticisms include or even slightly
imply any kind of regret. Although, as previously described, the revolutionaries
had to suffer from both repressive and ideological state apparatuses (physical
torture, humiliation, alienation, and destruction of self-respect) it seems that the
revolutionaries are still proud of being involved in the movement. At some point
in the interviews, the narratives turn into the testimonies, when the biographers
tell me that it is very important to record what happened, so the next generations
would know about the past of 12 September. Therefore, they pay special
attention to remembering the names of the perpetrators, details about the stations
where they were questioned, the duration of the questioning period and the
names of friends who were persecuted. The revolutionaries think that 12
September was a defeat for them, and they were victimized. By whom and for
what still remain unclear.

6. 2 Concepts in remembering the 12 September

This part of the chapter is based on concepts developed in a continuous dialogue

with empirical data (Becker 1998: 109). The first two concepts, the frozen
memory of the exiles and the memory of an isolated subject, are developed
through an analysis of the main turning points in the biographies: exile and
imprisonment. Both of these phases are discussed in their relation to memory and
its social frameworks, particularly the framework of physical and social space.
Other concepts, wounded memory and reflected memory, are developed through
the distinct memories of 12 September. In the discussion of the concept of
wounded memory, I consider memory in relation to violence. Similar to the
practices commemorating 12 September, when memory is marked with the
traces of the violence, violence becomes the dominant characteristic of
remembering. The second concept, reflective memory, leads to a discussion of
remembering a difficult past through an other, based on two cases. By
underestimating/ignoring self-experienced violence and achievements (in
commemorative practices these strategies appear as victimization and
heroization), the past is reflected and remembered through another subject.

6. 2. 1 The frozen memory of the exile

In his discussion of the multiplicity of collective memory, Halbwachs

emphasizes the role of fundamental changes, such as ruptures in space or time, or
a political upheaval, in the reconstruction of memories. He writes that when a
group or a society has undergone fundamental change, its memory seems to
return to memories of the periods before and after that change along different

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pathways that are not continuous with one another (1980: 123). According to his
argument, these fundamental changes first affect continuity, and create two
times in which two frameworks of thought are preserved (1980: 123). In the
case of remembering 12 September we can first assume that the two frameworks
of thought could refer to the date of the coup and that memory of it would be
divided into the time before and after. What if a group experiences more than one
fundamental change, like the exiles I interviewed? Which of these fundamental
changes would be considered the centre? In which of the frameworks of thought
would the exiles place themselves when remembering the military coup d'tat?
After analysing the biographies of the revolutionaries, I found more
similarities between the memories of the exiles and the revolutionaries who
remained in the country than I had expected at the beginning of the study. I
assumed that there would be radical changes towards the perception of the past
of these two groups, since their frameworks of the memory had gone along
different paths, especially the frameworks of time and space. However, their
reconstruction of the past of 12 September had similar structures. Nevertheless,
after focusing on a comparison of the life histories and the life stories, I analysed
the major difference between the biographies of the exiles and the others, which
was not with reference to the events narrated, nor to the structure of the narrative
of the coup. The main difference was in the last sequence of the main narratives.
To put it clearly, when asked for a narrative of their biographies for a study
dealing with the memory of the 12 September military coup, the exiles continued
narrating up to their arrival in Germany, whereas for the revolutionaries in
Turkey the main narratives continued until recent times and had no clear endings.
That is, the memory of the revolutionaries who stayed in Turkey continues in
time and space, whereas it was frozen for the exiles. To provide for further
discussion let us first look at the sequences which end the main narratives of the
exiles:

Then I decided to go abroad for a short term. So, seven-eight months, in April 89, with the help
of some friends from (Organization-Illegal Revolutionary) for the passport, I flew from
(Location-city/Turkey) to (Location-airport / Germany). So, that is it, I was not involved in
activities after the discussion with the organization. We arrived abroad (laughs) [...] Also the
book ends with my arrival abroad. So... (Ulus, m., 54, Germany, 9: 25-29).
And finally we could come to Frankfurt. Our friends were there to pick us up. Our friend
Kemal, you met him. He has a house at Hohe str. We lived together there for six months. Then
we came to this district, the apartment was small. We lived another one year together. Later he
brought his family. I mean[...] 01:02:33-7
We have experienced September the 12th very heavily. (Merve, f., 52, 9: 20-24).
So in the year 1985 I arrived here. Well, after working about two years, two to two and a half
years in different places. Here... But I was thinking of staying for one or two years and
returning after. But those years, still there was no possibility. I mean financially there was not
the possibility. There were never the conditions for staying here for one or two years and
returning back. I came and stayed. I had to stay (laughs). So it is the arrival (Atiye, f., 51,
Germany, 4: 10-13).

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As we see, the dates of arrival in Germany are varied in the examples I have
chosen above. Merve arrives in 1984, Atiye in 1985, Ulus in 1989 and Fuat in
2000. Nevertheless, they all take the date of arrival as the last phase of their life
story regarding 12 September. A first assumption could be that the interviewees
might have thought that their experiences as refugees were outside the
interviewer's interest, since the study is about 12 September. But why not end the
narrative after their release? How could one revolutionary narrate her story until
1984 and the other until 2000? The coup is a historical event which has a
beginning and end in time. That is, a historian would argue that the military
overthrew the government on 12 September 1980 and the junta lasted until the
establishment of the civil government on 13 December 1983. But looking at the
biographies, that is peoples collective memories, 12 September does not have
such clear limits, but it is more dependent on the personal experiences of the
repressive and ideological state apparatuses, which seem to have ended with
arrival in Germany. As Halbwachs argues the continuous development of the
collective memory is marked not, as is history, by clearly etched demarcations
but only by irregular and uncertain boundaries (1980: 82). Fleeing from Turkey
ruptures the continuity in the collective memory, and provides a boundary.
Migration is another fundamental change which distinguishes the life story of the
revolutionaries and creates another framework of thought(s). In Fuat's words,
becoming an 'exile' in Germany is another 'breaking sequence' in their lives. He
defines the new frameworks he finds himself in and tries to adapt as follows:
I mean I didn't think of living abroad permanently, only temporarily, but, eee, in the year 2000,
the end of 1999, beginning of 2000, I came abroad. But in leaving (the country) in being exiled,
we ourselves (words missing) and that was the last breaking sequence. At that point, you (we)
are leaving a country a society we lived in for 40 years, 45 years, and going to a different
place. New networks, new values, new relations. There are refugees who came from Turkey and
Kurdistan. There is a nuance, (different) lifestyles, and you are new there. You just meet with
the conditions of there (Fuat, m., 54, Germany, 5: 29-36).

Apart from the effect of being exiled to Germany, and based on this break,
having two frameworks of thought, a certain boundary which distinguishes the
life stories into before and after, the memory of 12 September is quite similar
among the revolutionaries. Even after such a rupture as migration, it is worth
examining these similarities, which I call frozen memory. The frozen memory of
the exiles is like well-preserved family photos and is not open to modification.
Halbwachs argues that the perception of the frameworks of memory, especially
time and space, may vary for each group. Some groups, particularly groups that
had to suffer violent events, are attached to a specific time or specific place in
order to protect/defend the group identity. Halbwachs explains this attachment
with the illustration of a traveller who suffers from not resetting his watch
according to the new time zone of the country visited, but keeps it set to home
time (Halbwachs 2007: 56). Although there is one unique universal measurable
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time, each group lives in the subjective time of its own. 12 September is not an
event which just caused the exiles to experience brutal violence, ideological
oppression, imprisonment etc., but it is also the very reason for them becoming
migrants in a new society. 12 September is the event which constructs this
common ground of the collective identity which is that of a political exile who
fought for revolution, suffered from state violence and finally longs for home
and/or tries to adapt to a new society. Therefore, 12 September plays a major role
in constructing the identity of revolutionaries in exile, and it is important to
preserve it with the minimum of changes. Halbwachs writes: When it considers
its own past, the group feels strongly that it has remained the same and becomes
conscious of its identity through time (Halbwachs 1992: 85).
On the other hand, 12 September for the revolutionaries who remained in
the country is not an event which resulted in a rupture like migration and the
reconstruction of a new identity. Rather, as found in the narratives of the
revolutionaries, they continued to experience the oppressions of the state based
on their past as revolutionaries. Here, I need to emphasize once again that the
subjects of this research are the revolutionaries who participated in the
revolutionary movement towards the end of the 1970s and who are still engaged
in politics, either through participation in the activities of political parties, civil
rights organizations, or through illegal revolutionary organizations. Therefore, I
assume that the reconstruction of the past in regard to continuity, irregularity,
uncertainty and the role of 12 September in defining the collective identity would
have multiple characteristics among the groups who are not engaged in the
revolutionary movement any more, or who agreed to collaborate with the state
during their imprisonment. For instance, unlike the revolutionaries I interviewed
in Turkey, those who are detached from the revolutionary movement may have
certainty of the boundaries in their memories of 12 September. Like the exiles,
they would have an ending sequence to their stories. On the other hand,
revolutionaries who are still active in politics and are still being oppressed by the
state institutions lack such a boundary. Their memory of 12 September is a fluid
one. Unlike the frozen memory of the exiles, it suffers from uncertainty and
irregularity of the boundaries of the collective memory. Their past continues in
their present lives. Their memories of the past intersect with their experiences of
the present. There is no clear sequence for ending the story of 12 September.
Hence, when asked for a narrative of 12 September they tend to narrate their life
stories until recent times.
The difference between frozen memory and, let us say, active memory is
similar to the difference between history and collective memory as portrayed by
Halbwachs. He argues that the work of fixing a memory could only be possible
when remembrance weakens. He writes: [T]he need to write the history of a
period, a society, or even a person is only aroused when the subject is already too
distant in the past to allow for the testimony of those who preserve some

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remembrance of it (Halbwachs 1980: 78-79). Among the exiles I interviewed,
writing autobiographies was quite common, whereas none of the revolutionaries
living in Turkey has written such a work. Thinking of the size of the sample, I
should avoid generalizing this finding to the whole group of revolutionaries.
However, the fact of the exiles being involved in autobiographies supports the
view that the exiles' memory of 12 September is more fixed than it is for the
revolutionaries who live in Turkey.

6. 2. 2 Memory of the isolated self

We perceive things not as pure images, but with the meanings they embody
based on historical and social relations. We begin learning the meanings assigned
to them as soon as we enter the world of language. Social milieus, such as
family, school and religion, which Halbwachs views as the social frameworks of
collective memory, or in Althusser's terms the Ideological State Apparatuses,
reconstruct the notions, ideas and beliefs which assign things their meanings.
Thus, Halbwachs argues that the 'purely individual state of consciousness' is not
possible when surrounded by the social elements. He argues that an image which
could be 'explained only by itself' is an image 'detached from the word' and also
detached from 'the general significations of all that surrounds [the] individual,
from relations and ideas' (Halbwachs 1992: 170). Therefore, memory is possible
also necessary for a human being who is born into a society and surrounded
by relations and ideas from the first moments of her existence. Similarly,
forgetting represents the extent to which we lose our ties with social frameworks.
Forgetting is explained by the disappearance of these frameworks or of a part of
them, either because our attention is no longer able to focus on them or because
it is focused somewhere else (distraction is often only the consequence of an
effort of attention, and forgetting almost always results from a distraction)
(Halbwachs 1992: 172). The disappearance of frameworks could be a matter of
choice for individuals in some cases, or in other cases a result of an action (such
as migration).
Individuals may experience rapid and radical changes in social frameworks.
In this case, they would either try to adopt the new values, notions and thoughts
reproduced by these new social frameworks surrounding them, or would insist on
continuing with the past social frameworks by socializing with the people and
organizations who carry them in the new (host) community. As discussed in the
section on frozen memory, there could be many other dynamics, such as identity,
belonging, etc., which lead exiles and migrants to have a strong attachment to
past events.
Disappearance of the frameworks, however, could also happen as a result of
oppression by an external power. The most prominent example of the situation is,

159
obviously, prison. Since Foucault, it has been argued that the function of prison
is not only to punish and discipline the prisoner, but also to legitimise the power
of the state over those who are not imprisoned. He writes that for the convict the
penalty is a mechanics of signs, interests and duration. But the guilty person is
only one of the targets of punishment. For punishment is directed above all at
others, at all the potentially guilty (Foucault 1977: 108). In doing this, the state
guarantees the obedience to its power of the masses. Similarly, the state exercises
its power over the detainee by minimizing and controlling her relations with
social frameworks. In the interviews I conducted, in each case where
imprisonment was experienced, revolutionaries talked about the constraints on
communication with other prisoners, prohibitions of the visits of family members
(in some cases not even visits from lawyers were allowed) and punishment in
dark cells. These kinds of practices aim to isolate prisoners by reducing their
social relations. On the other hand, in addition to physical constraints, rules that
organize the daily life of prisoners and impose body politics, such as uniform
wearing and hair shaving, tend to destroy any kind of differences among the
prisoners.
In relation to Halbwachs' argument about the link between forgetting and
disappearance of the frameworks, we may assume that the oppressive practices
of prison aimed to destroy the collective memory of the revolutionaries: who we
are, what we want(ed) to do. Connerton calls this kind of forgetting 'repressive
erasure' (2008: 60). He quotes from Milan Kundera that the struggle of man
against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting (Connerton 2008:
60). The revolutionaries often emphasize how vital it was to have
communication with the prisoners in the other wings, even to exchange news
about simple matters, even though they knew that this would be punished by the
guards. Dilek, for instance, told of the oppressive rules at Metris Prison and how
and why they fought against them:
Uhh what was practised on us for a long time at Metris was really, eeh, they didn't give us for a
long time, the.. ehh how to say, paper and pen. So they interrupted our dialogue with outside,
we couldn't write letters. I mean, we couldn't write letters to people. Eeh, for example even the
newspaper Cumhuriyet, was a political newspaper. They didn't give us, since it was a left-wing
paper.

... We were not allowed to do handiwork. These were all to keep us away from everything and
leave you in an isolated eeh, to make, I mean, to destroy you. Handiwork, you can't even do
handiwork, I mean why not give (handiwork)?

.... Well those days, what saved us was really that, we were all together in the same place. 30-
40 of us 20 of us. I mean everyone was trying to share what she knows with others, some were
teaching English, some maths, some talk about history, some literature. I mean everyone shares
her knowledge with the others. You try to keep yourself, eeh, your consciousness alive. You try
not to lose your ties with reality. Things like playing theatre games, folkdance. I mean to shape,
to colour life in the middle of that cruelty.

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 ... Folk dancing does not mean much outside, but there it is very meaningful. I mean, it was an
objection, a resistance, to carry on a part of life there. It was an expression of I am not going to
be the robot you want (Dilek, f., 57, Turkey, 21: 28-46).

Her narrative continues with further examples of isolation and the prisoners'
struggle against the rules of the guards. There could be no explanation for
prohibiting the prisoners from activities such as handiwork. These kinds of
restriction may have only one target, which is the destruction of the prisoners'
identity by abstraction from any kind of human activities. Revolutionaries
therefore invented ways of not being isolated. lyas (m., 61, Germany) told, for
instance, of how he could communicate with his friends by using a mirror while
he was kept in a cell for almost 5 years. Deniz (m., 55, Germany) recounted how
they developed a cryptic language by tapping on radiator pipes, and Hakan (m.,
53, Turkey) told about sharing notes written on small pieces of papers and left in
the toilet, and later how they communicated with other wings in a more
complicated cryptic numerical language. Nizam (m., 53, Turkey) recounted that
when books were prohibited, the prisoners copied the books they had on very
small pieces of paper in handwriting and hid them in holes in fences and in bunk
beds.
Apart from the isolation experienced in the prisons, the revolutionaries who
remained in Turkey experienced a different kind of isolation due to the radical
social, cultural and political changes that took place in society during their
imprisonment. Revolutionaries who were imprisoned for longer periods, in
particular, narrate a feeling of alienation and the difficulties in adopting new
values and thoughts after their release. Some were released after the law of
conditional release78 (1991) which bans any kind of political engagement after
the release. In addition, after their release the revolutionaries were faced with the
difficulties of unemployment, housing and re-establishing contacts with close
friends and family members. To summarize, the revolutionaries who remained in
Turkey were isolated in two ways: as a result of 'planned obsolescence'; and
'survival isolation.'
Connerton (2008) argues that the capitalist system requires rapid changes in
the market for an acceleration of consumption. An increasing acceleration of
newly invented products results in the obsolescence of previously invented ones.
In terms of memory, he argues that consumers' demand for new objects means
'the attack of the present on the rest of time' (2008: 67). Hence, it is not only the
previously invented products which suffer from obsolescence, but anything that
belongs to the past. 'Vital to this production of obsolescence, forgetting is an

78 The conditional release law was declared on 12 April 1991 in the official newspaper issue 20843
page 4. The complete law on terror crimes can be reached at: http:// www .resmigazete .gov .tr/ main
.aspx?
home=http://www.resmigazete.gov.tr/arsiv/20843_1.pdf&main=http://www.resmigazete.gov.tr/arsiv/
20843_1.pdf .
161
essential ingredient in the operation of the market' (Connerton 2008: 67).
As discussed earlier in chapter 4, the first civil government established after
the military coup realized a neo-liberal transformation of the economy, as well as
of political and cultural life. The revolutionaries talk about these radical changes
which took place in society after the coup and of how their idea of making a
revolution had to suffer from obsolescence. They often mention how they had
difficulties in understanding a society which is highly individualistic,
competitive and had lost its interest in politics. Nizam (m., 53, Turkey) tells of
how he felt misused by his close friends, in economic relations and even in
romantic relations. Thus, for the first 3-4 years after his release he could only
have relations with people who shared a similar life history. Similarly, Aylin (f.,
50, Turkey) emphasizes that the military coup d'tat generated a society which is
individualistic and where everyone thinks of her own profit:
Well, for that friend's medical treatment, many people in the neighbourhood gave their
jewellery. I wonder, for instance if such a thing happened today, how many would give her
jewellery. That is, the absence of the feeling of belonging (we experienced) in that period
especially after the coup in 1980, destruction of organized society [rgtlln dalmas],
people's effort to save their own profits, to own property and ehh... resulted from it. It destroyed
the collectivity so to say, I think it destroyed good will (Aylin, f., 50, Turkey, 19: 25-31).

Fikri (M., 54, Turkey) relates that in particular the ability to object was destroyed
in people. He also gives an example of how people were in solidarity before the
coup and how it turned into an individualistic society afterwards:
I mean, now it is completely individualistic, relations are based on personal profits. If we go to
the students' dormitory where we used to cook for 250 students and suggest cooking for 50
every evening, I don't think we can find anyone. We, 8 people, when asked for a shift to cook
for 250, wash the dishes, never had a problem finding people. We had the rule to have 2
women, 6 men. And people used to write their names on the list, on days that suited them. And
on that day they, s/he was cooking, washing the dishes and cleaning up. Eeh, now I can't see
this. But this, uhh, is a reflection of society (Fikri, m., 54, Turkey, 22: 10-17).

Both Aylin and Fikri think that the common perception of political engagement
became negative after the coup d'tat. The closure of the political parties and
trade unions and the punishment of the revolutionaries had generated a fear
towards any political activities in society. The revolutionaries think that this fear
was the dominant characteristic of the society after the coup, that it weakened
individuals' capacity to take part in collective movements, even for simple things
like volunteering to cook for students, or to collaborate to cover a friend's
medical treatment expenses. Dilek (f., 57, Turkey), referring to the institutions of
the junta and the politics of the zal government, talks about a deterioration in
society.
The revolutionaries' narratives about the period before the coup, and their
statements regarding the changes that took place in society afterwards, should

162
not be read simply as nostalgia, or longing for the good old days. Rather, the
above quoted lines indicate the problems of adopting new values, and thus the
alienation experienced. The isolation revolutionaries experienced as a result of
the radical changes in society (individualism, competitiveness, profit orientation,
and apathy towards political activities) increased with the problems of
employment. Revolutionaries who used to work for the state lost their jobs, as
required by the law. Moreover because of their personal records, ex-prisoners
who had been judged and punished for committing a terror crime were not
permitted to work at state institutions. On the other hand, when applying to a
private company, they had to hide their past regarding the revolutionary
movement and imprisonment. Gotesky (1965) calls this kind of isolation
survival-isolation. To avoid exclusion or any kind of harm which might result
from discrimination, individuals hide their authentic characteristics. Nizam's
narrative of the years which he spent in higher education after his release
constitutes a good example of survival-isolation:
I didn't, whatsoever, neither my political identity, nor my past, to put it better, I tried to have
contacts without telling about (my political thoughts), and also warned another friend. Because
he communicated with people through this. Ehh and the other, the third friend, he also did like
me, he chose to be in class without talking about his political past. That first friend who did his
political identity (explained) left after the first class, he withdrew. Uhh, we, both of us
continued (Nizam, m., 53, Turkey, 17: 25-30).

Nizam and his two friends who were involved in the revolutionary movement
and arrested during the junta period had to hide their identity in order to 'survive'
in society. One of them, who did not hide who he was (although he was warned
by Nizam) could not continue his education and had to withdraw. Nizam's
narrative about hiding their past lives also shows how he took it to be 'normal'
and did not question why it was vital for him and his friends to keep their past
lives secret. Nizam's narrative about his efforts after graduation also shows how
the records of imprisonment continued to cause problems for the revolutionaries:
Therefore, after I was released uhh... Well, of course we experienced problems regarding what
to do, how to get into life again. Uhh I went to the university, immediately did my registration
without any problems. Ehh I started my sociology education at the age of 34 together with
young people aged 18-19. I graduated within four years (Nizam, m., 53, Turkey, 9: 31-34).

8 years of continual law education was accepted and they had to hire 200 thousand teachers.
Ehh I said, I'll try. Because they were going to hire 200 thousand teachers in two months
without a security check. So (both laugh), using that opportunity, I applied and was accepted.
So, uhh, I was involved in commercial work to solve financial problems. I was selling books,
cassettes, CDs. I left that behind and decided to keep going with my identity as teacher (Nizam,
m., 9: 45, 10: 1-6).

Like Nizam, other revolutionaries talk about the difficulties of being stigmatized
by state institutions, as well as by relatives and close friends. The revolutionaries

163
I interviewed were aged between 19 and 26 at the time of the military coup.
Some were released a few months after the questioning period; some were held
for several years; and a few of them were only released conditionally in 1991.
Just as their engagement in politics appears to be important when considering
their life histories, it also plays an important role in the construction of their life
stories. In this sense, we can assume that being forced to hide past political
activities and the period of imprisonment, i.e. survival isolation, for the
revolutionaries means denial of their very existence, their political identity. They
are excluded, or at least ignored, by society unless they forget about their past
experiences which in official cases is not even possible due to the states
records. The fact of the revolutionaries being isolated selves helps us to
understand the question of efforts for recognition when confronting the 12
September, and why the commemorative practices are so full of victimized
discourse. The narratives of the isolated self point out how after the coup society
fell into a deep silence, whether because of fear or obsolescence in the capitalist
era. The revolutionaries, prohibited from taking part in any political activities
and forced to keep their past lives secret, were pushed into a blind spot, or when
they tried to move out of the blind spot they faced a society whose members
turned a blind eye.

6. 2. 3 Wounded memory

Pain has an element of blank;

It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
Emily Dickinson

Among the revolutionaries I interviewed, there were a few of them whose links
with the revolutionary movement had weakened. Instead, they continued their
interest in politics through civil rights organizations, and especially human rights
organizations. As discussed, due to separation from their previous political
thoughts, the revolutionaries developed a more critical attitude towards their past
activities. Criticisms of the 68 generation and the leaders of the revolutionary
movement, as made by Ulus and lyas, are examples of this attitude they
adopted. Ulus also wrote an autobiography in 2011 and criticized the hunger
strikes and death strikes that he too joined in for 72 days in 1984, which had the
result of the death of four prisoners and irreversible damage to the health of
many others.
164
 Ercan's biography is one of these evaluative biographies. However, his
evaluation and criticisms are towards his own thoughts and actions in the past,
rather than a political group in general. The term 'wounded memory' is not used
here to denote a pathological case; besides, such an attempt would go beyond the
boundaries of a collective memory study, whereas my interest lies rather in the
construction of memory and how remembrance of the past is structured in the
narrative text. The term 'wounded' is, therefore, used here to emphasize the
structure of Ercan's story, which is unique among other interviews. To explore it
further, in the following sections I will focus on the background of the interview
with Ercan, his biography, and the essential turning points in his life story.

Interview Background

I met Ercan at the Labour Day demonstration in Cologne on 1 May 2010. He was
very interested in the topic of my research and accepted my request to interview
him. He also told me about his recent research project, which was about public
memory of the Holocaust. I conducted two interviews with him. The first took
place on 20 May 2010, and the second on 10 June 2010. In total the interviews
took three hours. Before our first meeting, I read an interview conducted with
him by a journalist in which he told about his involvement in the revolutionary
movement, his arrest with his wife and son, and their exile to Germany. Apart
from that interview, I had little knowledge about his recent activities or about his
life story before he actively took part in the movement. Before we started the
interview, he asked questions about my research, and my approach to collective
memory and remembering. He also told me about his own project in detail,
which was a joint project with two NGOs and he was the coordinator. He was at
the time of the interview organizing a tour of the memory sites of the Holocaust
in Berlin for young people, and he was also working as a guide at the old
Gestapo building in Cologne. I also learned that he was author of many novels,
and at the time of the interview he was about to finish a new book which was
based on his autobiography, and especially on the period of questioning under
torture. After the interviews we have stayed in contact and also participated in
many events and conferences together.

Ercan's biography

Ercan was born in 1957 to a family with three children, in a village on the Black
Sea coast. His father was a teacher and his mother a housewife. Ercan left his
village at the age of 12 to continue middle school and high school.
In 1975, in the last year of high school, he was arrested after buying a legal
newspaper from a kiosk and was questioned under torture for 11 days.
Afterwards, he was imprisoned for four months. In 1976, he enrolled in the

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education faculty at (Institution-University). At the time of the military coup
d'tat, he was continuing his activities underground. In 1981, he moved to
(Location-City) on the Aegean coast and settled in a small town. After one year,
his future wife Ezgi, who was at the time his comrade in the same political
group, moved into the town and they started living together as a couple. Their
son was born in this town in 1984.
The whole family was arrested on 18 May 1985. Ercan, his wife and their
son were questioned for about 33 days, and Ercan and Ezgi were tortured
separately. After the questioning period Ercan was imprisoned in the military
(Institution-Prison) and his wife was sent to another prison in the region. They
married while imprisoned in 1986 and both were sent to Istanbul Metris Military
Prison. Ezgi was released in 1987, and Ercan was released two years later. Their
daughter was born in 1989. After their trials ended, they were informed of their
prison sentences: the court decided 20 years (Ercan), and 13 years 4 months
(Ezgi). They decided to go into exile and in 1991 all the family members fled to
Germany.
They lived in a refugee camp until the approval of their asylum application.
In 1993, Ercan started working. His Turkish citizenship was annulled by the
Turkish government in 1998. In 2000 Ercan and Ezgi divorced. Ercan is the
author of many novels. At the time of the interview he was working as a guide at
a museum and writing another book. He had not been able to visit Turkey from
his exile to Germany until 2010. His first visit, made in the summer of 2010,
resulted in his arrest at the airport. He was released after five months
imprisonment.

Family Life and Childhood

The general structure of Ercan's narrative shows that he is not actually

remembering the past, but rather re-writing what has already been remembered
in the recent past. Since he had been working on an autobiographical book which
aimed to discover the memory of being tortured, and at the same time on a book
based on a trial to 'understand' the perspective and experience of the perpetrator,
it was to be expected that he would tell a story which is based on these freshly
recalled memories. At the very beginning of the interview he already knew the
structure of his narrative. His life story has three basic phases: the first period
consists of his life until his first arrest at the age of 18 in 1975; and second period
is until his second arrest in 1985; and the final one until his arrival in Germany in
1991.
Beginning with his childhood and family history, Ercan seeks an answer to
why and how these things happened to me. Therefore, even in the story of his
childhood the structure of the text is argumentative and evaluative (it happened,
probably because of this). Suffering and sorrows (both emotional and physical)

166
are the major theme of Ercan's story, and hence all the events experienced are
discussed and evaluated according to these feelings. At the beginning of his
narrative he discusses how he felt about his birthplace as follows:
I was born in a village. In (Location-City), (Location-Town) (Location-Village) village. And the
village meant to me, highly sheltered, the concept of home, very convenient with the concept of
home, a place where one would feel in safety and had the feeling of nothing going to hurt you
easily (bana kolay kolay bir eyin gelmeyecei duygusu) (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 2: 34-37).

The above lines are not only about longing for home, but they are also the clues
to the coming events which hurt him, or else he felt insecure. Due to the lack of
feeling safety and trust in the next sequences, he distinguishes 'home' as a place
where he felt nothing was going to hurt him, which could be read in another way:
the things I experienced later have hurt me. His description of his family
members also includes discussion about the generation of the events he had to
suffer:
My brother was a charismatic person, my oldest brother. My younger brother, on the other
hand, was the most intelligent young man in the village. That is, he used to complete everything
with the best grades, and so, almost at the cost of my father's whole income, he was sent to the
(Institution-Private College). I mean, for him to become a big man, in the private (school). He
was only 12 years old. My sister, my younger sister, was very spoilt and so cute. And my older
sister was so beautiful. Now, since they were charismatic, beautiful, intelligent, spoilt, and I
was the last but one child, I think I experienced such a problem in the family: where would my
place in this family be? Namely, I was neither the most beautiful, nor the most intelligent, most
charismatic, nor, I mean probably I had some from each, but they are all ordinary. Ja? But
everyone has characteristics and I couldn't discover my own characteristics in the well, in the
family, ja. How to say, a child who is more quiet, more congenial. Uhh I think, later, in my
rebellion against the state, ja, ehh [...] one of the reasons for it could be and I am the
bravest. So, it could be the feeling; if you were beautiful, you were intelligent (laughs), and
you were the cutest, then I am the bravest among you all. I mean this, I can express this by
exploring the past as a 53-year old person, ja (bunu 53 yandan itibaren geriye doru
baktmda ifade edebileceim bir ey, ja) (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 3: 31-45).

For Ercan, every phase of his life that he narrates is evaluated as a basis of his
political activities and the results of those activities. The motivation behind his
rebellion against the state in his interpretation could never have been realized at
this level. It is explained in the sequence on his family life as a matter of
choosing a characteristic which would differentiate him from others. As he
stresses, this analysis was made long after, only recently when he was 53 years
old. Why does he restructure his childhood in this way? How was it actually
experienced at the time? When he was 11 years old, society was highly
politicized. Following the 68 movement in Europe, the anti-imperialist
movement also gained sympathy in Turkey, which generated a strong student and
worker movement. Ercan's older brothers were probably involved in, or at least
had sympathy with, the leftist movement during their education in Istanbul.
Hence, while talking about the family's interest in reading books every evening,
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Ercan mentions that his ten-year older brother, who was enrolled in the faculty of
education, used to send them books, especially Russian classics. However, he
does not consider the politicized society, and neither these reading sessions, as
the influences on his interest in politics. Instead, he explains his involvement in
terms of an unconscious choice to be recognized by his family.

First arrest: What was done was the repression of the spirit of a young man,
nothing else.

Ercan's feeling of rebellion against the state was strengthened and turned into
political involvement after his first arrest, which he discusses around the theme
of injustice and disappointment. He tells about his sympathy towards the leaders
of the 68 movement, who he believes were persecuted unjustly in 1972.
However his sympathy had nothing to do with politics, nor had he any further
knowledge of the leftist movement. After buying a legal leftist publication he
was arrested and questioned under torture for eleven days. For him, being
tortured for only buying a legal newspaper was a milestone, which led to
questions about the legitimacy of the state:
At the same time, I guess I felt alienated from society as well. Step by step. Ja? And the basic
reason for this was that event I happened to experience in 1975, when I was in the last year of
high school. Because of buying a leftist newspaper, because I bought it, it is legal, ja? Ihh, I
bought it and somehow I was arrested, ja?(Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 4: 1-4).

... and finally they invented an organization, do you understand? And because of this we were
arrested and, ehh, how do they say, all my life suddenly changed its route, ja. I was questioned
for 11 days. Imagine, I mean there was (nothing), ehh it was an event that destroyed my
relation with the state totally. I mean, some adult men you consider yourself as a child
(Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 4: 9-12).

What happened after, well I was tortured by, 11 days, adult men. Now, those days we did not
consider them as perpetrators but eventually some elderly men (amcalar sonuta), ja. I mean I
didn't even distinguish between old men and perpetrators. That is, adult men, without any
reason, out of nothing, they impute some crimes on you and they force you to accept. I mean,
you would be frightened if there were some crimes to accept. You would have had the feeling of
a criminal, but what if there is nothing? After 11 days, eeh, how to say. What was done was the
repression of the spirit of a young man, nothing else, ja? And how to say, their function, this is
my comment in the present, the police organization of the time invented organizations to
legitimise themselves, their existence. One of them, incidentally, one has found me. So, this is
unlucky for me (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 4: 32-41).

Ercan's account of his first arrest is a discussion of the evil, and the innocence of
a young man. Rather than directly accusing the perpetrators, he questions their
action, their power to practise violence on the bodies of innocent youths. In
contrast to the explanations by other revolutionaries I interviewed (we knew
what could happen to us, but we didn't imagine this much brutality, but we
resisted/survived) Ercan suffers from the problem of how this evil was generated
168
(from the old men we considered as our older relatives. How could they act in
such a brutal way? On the other hand, he does not accept the general
explanation of the 'right to be evil' against the revolutionaries, which is often
unquestioned in other narratives. The position of the perpetrators is 'legitimised'
as the actors of state repression. Therefore, their practices of violence, and their
power to turn bodies into instruments of torture, are not denied, if not accepted.
Ercan's narrative has this main difference from the others: it is even more
difficult to deal with the violence experienced if it is not 'justified'. This is not to
say that the other revolutionaries justified the violence they experienced. Instead,
they had two opposites in their minds: revolutionaries who were opposite to the
state and the repressive apparatuses of the state (the army and the police) which
try to destroy anything related to the former ideas, bodies, books or the ability
to resist. Thus the violence they experienced was not an unexpected
phenomenon. We do not know Ercan's interpretation of the violent acts of the
police when he was arrested, but only his present interpretation of the event,
which just relates the incidents. The narration of buying a legal leftist newspaper,
which figures as a new beginning of a phase in his life, is over, and is over-
remembered, so to say, revisited by Ercan. He has probably rewritten the
memory of the day with ideas such as what would have happened if that day I
had not bought the newspaper? or how would life have been?
The book79 which he was writing at the time of the interview was published
in the same year. Although its literary genre is fiction, as Ercan told me before
the interview, the book is mainly based on his arrests, and he tries to consider the
problem of torture from both perspectives: that of the torturer, and that of the
victim. He signed my copy with a note:
Dear Elif,

This book is actually nothing other than a literary narrative of what I have told you... Cologne,
4.2.2011

In the fictional narrative of his past life, the phase of his first arrest starts with
penitence:
This subject bothered me for a long time. I am talking about my shoelaces. If I could have
laced them on time, if I hadn't fooled around, that man wouldn't have been there when I arrived
at the kiosk, and I would have gone away with the newspaper I bought, which I saw for the first
time. How is it that a few weird minutes, even maybe a few seconds of delay may affect life to
this extent!

I am talking about coincidences (pp. 18-19).

79 For the sake of anonymity I prefer not to give a reference to the book, however autobiographical
books are listed in the bibliography at the end of the book.
169
His first arrest and imprisonment, as the other revolutionaries told, provided the
means to get to know the imprisoned revolutionaries of the previous generation
and to be politicized through discussions with other political prisoners. Ercan
relates the situation as being imprisoned as a youth who knew nothing; not by
talking about why he was arrested, but by his release he became a theoretical
young man who had learnt a lot of Marxist theory.

Second arrest: Nobody speaks about that wounded spirit, ja.

Ercan was arrested for the second time five years after the military coup. In his
narrative of his life story, the period of university education, 1976-1980, is
absent. These years, as I have shown in the historical background of the coup
d'tat, were the years when many political upheavals, protests and massacres
took place. It is also the period when revolutionary organizations, unions and
students' movements were active throughout the country. However, Ercan's
narrative of this period does not include any of these events, but rather is based
on an evaluation of the violence experienced in daily life, which he thinks was
the basic reason for the people's support for the coup. He says that in such times,
when people were killed every day on the streets, everyone was agreed at least
on there being just one unique power to hold the authority to kill (p. 6, 4-5).
His narrative about 12 September is followed by his move to a town at the
seaside, on the Aegean Coast, where he lived five years. During these years, he
continued his political activities underground. However, these activities are not
mentioned in his narrative. I assume that this was not a question of
confidentiality or privacy but was a matter of selectivity. For him, the illegal
political activities and the organizations he was involved in were sub-stories that
support the main narrative, which is based on his two arrests and his flight to
Germany, as he mentioned at the beginning of the interview. Actually, Ercans
narrative is not simply remembering past things; rather, it is a confrontation with
the past. The story of his second arrest especially is like a dialogue between the
remembering Ercan in the present and the living Ercan in the past. For instance,
in his narrative of the years between 1980 and 1985, that is to say the
underground years with his family before the second arrest, he frequently
discusses the decisions and actions made in the past and his evaluations of them
in the present.
So, I could go abroad, I didn't. I don't know why I didn't go abroad. I mean, I don't know why I
didn't leave (p. 6; 46-47).

That is, the only possibility was to escape overseas. Instead of that, instead of that I preferred
to establish an organization (p. 7; 3-4).

Later, I met an Ezgi underground. My wife. 00:40:21-8 She was also illegal. Then we had a
child underground. So we were both illegal but also had a baby. The reason for having a baby
170
 was, although it sounds silly now, to hang on to life [...] to hang on to life via a child. In fact, it
seemed like there was no future (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 7: 8-11).

So, a married couple with a child, have things to do, okay, fishing in the evenings, and coming
back from fishing in the mornings. I mean, like this, normal. When considered, it is a sweet
family, without any suspicion. Hence, no one would denounce us there, nothing would happen.
So, if I may talk about irresponsibility about the past, or ehhh, what I haven't done although I
thought about it, or I was late, was to carry out that decision, ja. I performed that. I mean the
boy was born in 84, ja. In January. He grew up, especially that summer, when our relationship
strengthened after he grew up, almost every single night I discussed with myself. I mean, leave
it today, write a letter today. There was a branch of the organization abroad. It was already
with us in the country, in (location-city) we were in contact; we had the connection with
abroad. Write a letter and cut out all the relations. I leave it, I don't want to continue doing this
anymore, and so on, ja [...] If I could have done it, I am not able to know of course, what was
going to happen. I mean, I didn't know, if we were to experience what we went through, either. I
mean it is not possible to know this beforehand, but there was the responsibility for it of course.
I mean there was such irresponsibility there; Well my wife Ezgi, we were in the end adults. I
mean we had the right to take such and such decisions regarding ourselves. We could choose to
get into an armed struggle, I mean eventually we have to decide, since we are adults ja. But the
child didn't. Because he had nothing other than being our child. So, he was not in a situation to
take a decision on anything. For him, it was unfair. My decision as such, ja (Ercan, m., 53,
Germany, 7: 12-38).

At this point, Ercan's remembrance confronts two decisions which played a

major role in his biography: his decision to not leave the country but instead to
live underground, and second, after having their son deciding to continue with
illegal activities despite thinking about separation many times. The quotations
above show the structure of Ercan's remembrance. That is, it is not narrated as a
linear sequence of events, but rather it is circular, visiting the past with possible
alternative actions and decisions thought in the present.
Although the centre of his life story is his questioning under torture after his
second arrest with his wife and son, the days under torture are not narrated but
again discussed through his revisiting thoughts. He says that it is not the details
of how he was tortured, but how he comments on that event, how he is feeling
now about that part of his past life that should be more important. In addition, he
mentions the book he was writing again, and says that the book dealt with the act
of torturing someone based on his own story, but tried to include the perspective
of the perpetrator as well, since he thinks the field of torture is a problematic one.
He says:
It was important for me for this novel to be authentic and my own story, because this torture is
a problematic field. It is also problematic to tell it through a novel. Well, how to say, you know,
everybody is against torture in any case. But still tort..., that many, if there were 500 thousand
tortured (laughs) eeh many did torturing ja. I mean how many did torture? And they are also
human living around us, eventually they are part of this society ja. They have children and so
on, whatever. Actually there is a social problem here, ja. I mean 500 thousand people were
tortured, many have tortured and they both try to live as parts of society (Ercan, m., 53,
Germany, 8: 19-26).

171
Whether it is because of the book he was authoring at the time of the interview or
not, Ercan's life story often refers to and tries to deal with the problem of torture,
violence, or, as he puts, it wounded spirit. Among those memories of his
second arrest and questioning which Ercan finds problematic, he prefers to
mention just one image: the image of his wife after weeks of being tortured. He
describes it as follows:

One thing that I could never forget, about the past, is how someone could change that much in
such a short time. In fact she had no scars on the face, ja? There were no marks, wounds on
her face. As if the meaning of her face and ja all her body was different. Everything. I mean, I
mean she wasn't the person I married. Do you understand? I never asked her that, well, how
did she perceive me at that time? (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 8: 39-43).

By selecting the image of his wife after being tortured and his reaction to it,
Ercan tries to overcome the difficulty of narrating an experience. As he says,
there is an invisible barrier between the tortured (the one who has experienced
something), and those who never experienced it. He cannot directly transfer the
very essence of the experience of being tortured through words, but only by
describing the thoughts, feelings, meanings and images could he manage to get
closer to the sense of the experience. Sarlo argues that an experience can only be
considered by means of a theory which is able to explain it. Experience cannot
be remembered, but only analysed (Sarlo 2012: 71). Therefore, Ercan is seeking
tools to analyse what he experienced. Following his narrative about the image of
his wife, he continues by arguing that when talking about torture it is usually the
physical violence people tend to mention, but what is more important are the
effects of torture. He says, But the effects of it, ja, its effect... on the, or how to
say it, I could express it as the wounded spirit. It is not common to speak of that
wounded spirit, ja. (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 8: 45-47).

In fact, the spirit is maybe the memory itself...

Ercan's evaluation of his life history has three dimensions: the first arrest, the
second arrest, and the period of questioning. He evaluates each sequence by
referring to the 'spirit'. His first arrest is introduced with the comment what was
done was the repression of the spirit of a young man, nothing else. Similarly,
the narrative of his second arrest ends with emphasis on the effects of the
violence rather than the physical experiences, and he says, nobody speaks about
that wounded spirit, ja. Finally, the following section, which is based on his
analysis of the effects of violence, opens by arguing that what he is trying to
explain by 'spirit' is actually the memory itself. His analysis about the wounded
spirit, that is, wounded memory, also constructs his own biography. He says:
... but in fact where our spirit is then, we don't know. I mean, we could only feel it, at least,
172
 how to say, the marks of that, the marks of that torture have maybe almost disappeared, ja. But
the repression of the spirit of that era, or I may call it remembrance, what is called memory. In
fact the spirit is maybe the memory itself, ja. 00:54:57-6

But that wounded memory, in my opinion, remains forever (Ercan, m., 53, Germany, 8: 48, 9:
1-5).

In the section on the perpetrators, I argued that the aim of the power exercised on
the bodies of the revolutionaries was not only to destroy them physically or to
make them experience physical pain alone, but to humiliate them, which in the
end would leave deeper marks on the memory of the victims. With the term
wounded memory, Ercan argues that the tortures he and his family experienced
were not forgettable, not in the sense of physical pain, but that he felt they were
something he would always remember. Foucault writes:
Furthermore, torture forms part of a ritual. It is an element in the liturgy of punishment and
meets two demands. It must mark the victim: it is intended, either by the scar it leaves on the
body, or by the spectacle that accompanies it, to brand the victim with infamy; even if its
function is to 'purge' the crime, torture does not reconcile; it traces around or, rather, on the
very body of the condemned man signs that must not be effaced; in any case, men will
remember public exhibition, the pillory, torture and pain duly observed (1977: 34).

The victims of the 12 September Military Coup are not marked with infamy 'by
the spectacle that accompanies,' but instead the lack of recognition of what the
victims had to suffer by the majority of the society has strengthened the marks of
torture. Moreover, as I argued in the section about the perpetrators, systematic
torture, with or without the spectacle, aimed to humiliate the revolutionaries
through sexual harassment, military discipline, insulting their bodily appearance,
or above all by despising and oppressing the prisoners' ideologies, and sense of
religious and ethnic belonging. Ercan says the two long-term effects of a
wounded memory are a feeling of deficiency, which he also calls 'heimatlos', and
the absence of a sense of the future.
What was experienced in the past continues to control his present and future
life. He talks about the feeling that something is missing even when everything
is satisfying, in a life based on the effects of torture. The other effect is, he says,
that it is not possible to plan a future life, and so he cannot think of a future. He
calls this tomorrowlessness.80 Ercan's life story of wounded memory is well
expressed in Dickinson's lines: pain has an element of blank, [...] it has no
future but itself.

80 The terms Ercan uses in the narrative of the effects of the wounded memory are original even in
Turkish. The Turkish term which I translate into English as 'tomorrowlessness' is 'yarnszlk'.
Similarly, 'heimatloss' could be translated into English as 'homeless', which he expressed in Turkish
as 'yurtsuzluk'.
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6. 2. 4 Reflective memory

Although narratives of heroization and victimization might appear to be

opposites, in cases of reflective memory they intersect and function together. The
sorrows suffered and heroic resistance against the perpetrators are composed
together in order to construct the image of the victimized hero. Moreover, the
main feature of this type of remembering is remembering through the other (loss
of a loved one), which I call reflective. I would like to examine the concept
further by discussing the reconstructions of two biographies in detail.

They also used electricity to torture me. His (wounds) were so many.

The context of the Interview with Merve

In March 2010, I attended a commemoration for Mehmet ahin, where I saw

Merve for the first time. The commemoration was organized by the human rights
organization which Merve and Mehmet took part in establishing. The
commemoration was held in a large conference room in a local municipality
culture centre in Kln, Germany. Merve and her daughter gave sentimental
speeches in memory of Mehmet. There were about 150 participants, who all
seemed like a big family together. Everyone greeted each other. That was the
third anniversary of the loss of Mehmet. On the desk placed on the right of the
entrance, there were books written by Merve in memory of Mehmet, and CDs
about Mehmet's life and poems were on sale. In front of the entrance door, on the
left, there were appetizers and drinks.
I did not meet Merve in person at this commemoration. It was quite an
intense time for her, and on the other hand I was not sure if it would have been
the right moment to talk about my research when she was in the mood for
mourning her loved one. A few months later, in September 2010, I came across
her again at a meeting regarding 12 September. It was a small meeting with 13
participants and everyone had a chance to introduce themselves. There I told
Merve about my research and my wish to interview her. She was very kind, but
when I called her she explained her schedule for the following weeks and we
were not able to make an appointment. In December, she called me and told that
she was very impressed by an article I had written about 12 September81 and
would like to meet soon for the interview. She invited me to the monthly
literature evening she organizes, which is named after Mehmet. At the end of the
literature evening, around 10 pm, she unexpectedly invited me to stay overnight
at her house and conduct the interview in the morning. When we arrived at her
place, together with her daughter, they were already quite tired but they were

81 Karacan, Elifcan (2010) 'Dogan Akhanli ve Hatirlamak... Ama nasil?' (Dogan Akhanli and
remembering... But how?) in Birgn Newspaper, 7 December 2010.
174
also wondering about my research. We had a general talk about the daily politics
of Turkey, and about the literature event she had organized. There were two
photos of Mehmet on the wall of the living room. He looked quite different in the
black and white photo, and I learned later that the photo was taken one day
before his arrest on 11 September 1980. The colour photo was taken much later,
and he looked quite skinny. Merve explained later that because he had been
tortured by pouring hot water down his throat he was not able to eat properly.
The next room used to be Mehmet's working room, and was kept as it was during
his life. Everything was arranged as if he was still alive. On his table there were
his glasses and his watches, the notes he took, and his notebooks, etc.
The next day early in the morning after breakfast we did the interview. It
took almost two hours. Merve was quite relaxed and she seemed as if she already
had an idea about the structure of her narrative (later, when I read the book she
wrote in memory of her husband, I was to realize that the structure of the life
story she told me was quite similar to that of the memoir in the book).

Merve's biography

Merve was born in 1958, in a small city on the Black Sea coast. She was the
youngest child of five (one brother and three sisters). Her father owned a
restaurant in the city, and her mother was housewife. The family moved to S. (a
small city in the south east) when Merve was 6 years old, because her brother got
a job there as a judge. In 1968, the family had to move again to city A., which is
a relatively big city in the south, and there Merve graduated from primary school
and started middle school. In 1973, after an exam to get into the school of
education, she registered in a regular high school in her hometown. While
studying at high school, in 1975 she met her future husband, Mehmet. Mehmet
was born in 1948 and was teaching literature at Merves high school. She started
working as a clerk in a state institute after her second unsuccessful attempt to
study in the faculty of education. During her relationship with Mehmet, she
sympathized with the leftist movement and started taking part in the local
activities. In 1977, Merve married Mehmet, who at that time was one of the
leading revolutionaries in the city, and active in the union of teachers. After their
marriage, they had problems with the state authorities because of their
involvement with the leftist organizations, and therefore they were expelled to
other cities several times.
In the morning of 12 September 1980, Merve, her sister and Mehmet were
arrested at her parents house and taken to the School of Education in the city,
where they were all tortured. Merve was released at the beginning of November
and Mehmet was transported to a Martial Rule Inquiry Centre in a neighbouring
city for questioning, which took 75 days. After the questioning period he was
imprisoned in the military prison. After the brutal torture, Mehmet suffered from

175
serious health problems between 1981 and 1984, while he was still in prison.
After a medical report stating that Mehmet has throat cancer at the level of risk
of death, he was released from prison and the family fled to Germany for
treatment in March 1984, where they requested asylum.
In 1986, Merve gave birth to their daughter, the first child, and after three
years, in 1989, their son was born. Merve and Mehmet were both active in the
establishment and activities of a human rights organization in Germany. In 2006,
Mehmet's health problems get worse and he suffered from embolism, and in
March 2007 he died.
At the time of the interview, Merve was 52 years old and working part time
in the social services sector.

He says I won! I didn't tell them about my comrades!

The context of the Interview with Atiye

I met Atiye at a New Year celebration event organized by [organization] in

December 2009 in Cologne/Germany, to which I was invited by the chairman of
the organization. The celebration was held in a big wedding hall where there
were more than 300 people. Since Atiye was one of the executives of the
organization she knew many people, who were mostly members, or relatives of
members. The chairman suggested to me that Atiye would be a suitable person to
interview, since she took refuge in Germany after 1980 and her husband was
killed under torture soon after 12 September. I was introduced to her by the
chairman, who put emphasis on my family background and the university where
I studied in Turkey (the Middle East Technical University is known as 'the castle
of the left' in Turkey, since the leaders of the 68 generation graduated from this
university, and there is still a strong Marxist tradition, especially in the Social
Sciences and Economics departments). She agreed to take part in my research as
an interviewee. She also told me that she had studied at (Institution, university)
which is one of the highest ranking universities for engineering, but had not had
the chance to complete her education.
On 26 January 2010, we met in a cafe for the first interview. Our second
interview took place on 19 February 2010. The interviews lasted for a total of
two and a half hours. At that time she was 51 years old and was working as an
accountant for a private company.

Atiye's biography

Atiye was born in 1959 in a small conservative district, a mid-sized city in the
south-western part of Turkey as the third daughter of a working class family. At
the time she was born, her mother was 22 years old and had a daughter aged five

176
and a son aged two. Soon after Atiye's birth, her father died in an accident at
work. After her father's death, the family's finances worsened. The only family
income was based on agriculture. Until the end of high school (1976), she lived
with her family in the small town where she was born. During her middle school
and high school education she was impressed by the leftist teachers and
developed sympathy towards the leftist movement.
In 1976, she moved to Istanbul to study mathematics and she also started
taking part in left-wing protests. She was very much impressed by the worker's
movement in Istanbul and decided not to continue her education at university,
but instead to do work involved with the workers movement. Therefore, she
started working at a textile factory in Istanbul. She was actively involved in the
workers union and was arrested 8-10 times before the military coup. On 23 July
1980 she married rfan. On September 8 she was arrested after a regular police
search, because she had trade union manifestos in her bag. During her detention
at the police station, her husband rfan was arrested on 12 September 1980. She
was released on 23 September, whereas her husband was killed under torture on
14 October 1980.
Atiye moved to rfan's family house in the Black Sea region and lived there
until 1982. In 1982 she decided to move back and work in Istanbul. She did
various jobs in Istanbul until 1985, when she went into exile in Germany. Since
her arrival in Germany she has continued taking part in the activities of the [left
organization]. She is married, and has a son named after rfan.

Comparison of Life Stories and Reconstructions of the Biographies

In the light of the above biographies of Merve and Atiye and the background to
the two interviews, I will compare the life stories of the two interviewees in three
phases by analysing the structure of the texts they narrated. In doing so I will
discuss how they narrate their memory of the past, that is, how the historical
events and previously explained biographical experiences are restructured today.
The three phases are as follows: sympathizing and involvement in the
revolutionary movement; 12 September and the period of arrest/imprisonment;
the loss of the loved one.

First interest in the Revolutionary Movement

Merve's narrative of her life story starts with a short description of the members
of her family and continues with discussion of her unsuccessful attempts to get
into the school of education. Her focus on education might have been generated
by the interaction between the interviewer and herself, but another hypothesis is
that having succeeded in enrolling in the school of education would have
radically changed her life history.

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The sequence on education is told in her words thus:
Uhh... my family wanted me to register in the school of education. There was a school of
education in (location-city). They sent me there. But there was an entrance exam for schools of
education, how..., I couldn't start directly in the school of education that time. And I started the
first class of (regular) high school there. There was also a possibility of taking the entrance
exam after the first year to enter the school of education. If you don't have any bad grades. I
didn't have any, so I studied for the exams. I wanted to enter the school of education and
become a teacher. I noted the dates for the exam, but the officer there gave me the wrong dates.
I studied all that summer, and I went to the school to get a paper. One of the teachers said
Merve we waited for you for the exam, you didn't appear, where were you? How could it
be, my exam was not on that day. He said No. We waited and you didn't come, the exam is
done. So I couldn't become a teacher (laughs) (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 1: 21-30).

In this narrative, it is clear how important it was for Merve to get into the school
of education, and how it might have affected her life in a negative way. However,
shortly after this sequence she immediately says:
But, I mean, uhh, some coincidences change the lives of people. I stayed at high school, uhh
and my future husband came there as a teacher (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 1: 31-32).

Merve started her narrative about her husband Mehmet with this account, soon
after her disappointment and regret about not being able to register in the school
of education. She displaces her disappointment with a positive alternative, which
is her meeting with her future husband. She uses the same reasoning after her
second attempt to enter the Faculty of Education:
I finished high school. For university, (institute/university). Again I was going to be a teacher.
But it wasn't in my fortune, as they say (laughs) [...] I did the registration. [...] At that time in
(location/city) the fascists were the majority. A family friend graduated from
(institute/university). Mehmet also graduated from (institue/university). They burned a girl's
face with nitric acid. Well before 12 September. I mean I graduated in 75, so it (happened)
around 75. Ahh my mother heard that. Could she allow me! I will neither send my daughter
nor let people pour nitric acid on her. Don't want her to be a teacher (laughs). Although I was
registered, she didn't let me go. So it didn't work. That is also something, maybe if I had gone I
would have had a new life, new well [...] because I was a poor child and love is also like that.
But I love him still of course. (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 2: 7-19).

In both accounts, Merve's desire to become a teacher is told together with strong
perspectives from her present life: I would have had a new life, which
immediately makes her feel bad and she again needs to mention her husband and
how she loved him.
Until the event of getting to know Mehmet, Merve does not mention
anything about her interest in the revolutionary movement, or anything about the
recent political upheavals. Her narrative is based on her family background and
discussion of her educational expectations. Only after meeting Mehmet, when
she realizes her feelings towards him, are political events and her interest in
revolutionary activities included in her narrative. However, even her involvement
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in the activities of organizations overlaps with her love story, but are not
explained politically.
Ohh, one day he made a critique that history should be lived, has to be like this and that, things
like this. Later I started to visit (Organization/legal left). In (organization) there was a very
nice man we all liked, he was a director, was directing theatre plays. He was going to direct a
play and I was also going to take a role. And Mehmet will also have a role and so on... I had
told a friend that I am in love with Mehmet (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 1: 49-52).

Even at work in my free times I always read books. My friends visit me. And people around me,
the friends in that lumpen (lumpen bourgeois) group cut off relations with me because I love my
teacher. And I [...] uhh, there was a new revolutionary group after Mehmet's talks, I was
friends with them. And at that time, well the revolutionary movement had a very fast move. I
mean in the 75s with Mehmet. That is to say getting into organizations, (organization/legal
union) well [...]

Later, one day he came to school, well... to work and he told me that he loved me (Merve, f., 52,
Germany, 2: 17-22).

Merve narrates her political involvement together with her interest in Mehmet,
but does not put a special emphasis on political movements, or her own
perspectives. Politics and the revolutionary movement are additional topics in
her main narrative of the love story which brought them together, which
constituted a common ground for the couple. Only after they are married are
Merve's political activities juxtaposed:
I was in the organization of civil servants. We established it and I was working there. Mehmet
was in (organization/union). Our organizations were in the same neighbourhood. We go to
organizations after work, and from there back home. I come home late at nights and wash the
clothes in the machine, drrrr.... No time. At weekends, seminars, we went to, well... awareness
raising, local activities etc. Very busy three years (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 2: 38-42).

Her involvement in the civil servants organization is told in two sentences. In

addition, her activities with it are told in a short account when compared with the
whole life story. Although she is narrating the years between 1977 and 1980
when the most radical political upheavals took place at the national level, and
also at the local level since she was at that time living in one of the cities where
the revolutionary movement was very active, she downplays her own
involvement in these activities. In general, her main argument is not the politics
but her personal relationship once again. The general political situation is
summarized in three lines just before the narrative of 12 September:
One day the movements, everywhere in Turkey, the workers are demonstrating, the rights, the
students raised their awareness, the workers also raised their awareness. Women started to
raise their awareness, they wanted their free rights. We were in my mother's (place), one night
[...] in the morning (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 2: 54-56).

Atiye's construction of her story about her interest in the revolutionary

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movement is, however, told in much detail, with a structure of argumentation
which also shows her perspective on the past from the present. Even when
narrating her family background at the very beginning of the interview, she
discusses how she developed an interest in the revolutionary movement and the
kind of events that might have triggered her involvement:
Before I came to the university, I had an attitude. Always (I'd like to) read and study. I may say,
maybe this was the first effect (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 1: 4-5).

Soon after I was born my father died in an accident at work. That was always an effect on the
thing from my childhood, why don't I have a father, he died after an accident at work. To this
unfair..., to injustice. I mean this accident wouldn't have happened. A terrible accident. That
pushed me to question always, justice-injustice, why is it me, thing. This is the reason, my
teachers who think from a societal perspective at the middle school, high school were (idols) to
me. I wanted to be closer to them, talk with them about the questions in my head, things like;
society, justice, equality/inequality. Always. They are my teachers, I tried to read what they
read, the ones that I like, I followed them, I read the newspapers they read. I mean, I think the
very essence of my (thoughts) generated from there. I mean my rising against injustice, being
oppressed, to inequality (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 1: 6-16).

The high school teachers made an impression on me. I mean, what is freedom, equality, we
used to discuss these kind of things (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 1: 22-23).

There was a certain group of (teachers). Of course there were also conservatives, but the
others became really idols for me. They were effective and decisive in shaping my ideas at first.
So I came to the high school, sorry, to the university within these ideas (Atiye, f., 51, Germany,
1: 26-30).

Her present evaluation of the things that affected her sympathy towards the leftist
movement is summarized in two things: the loss of her father as a result of an
accident at work, and her school teachers who became idols for her. Her
explanation of the past events is constructed through her present perspectives,
and is visible in her evaluations such as maybe this was the first effect, which
is supported by her reasoning. Because of her present involvement in political
organizations, her interpretation of her life story is made through political
considerations and evaluations. Her first involvement in the revolutionary
movement is also told in an argumentative and evaluative structure:
I mean, at that time, when I was at the university (institution/university) there was a conflict
between left and right. I should say left and right conflicts in quotation marks. There was a
group of young people from (revolutionary party). The ones who called themselves members of
(organization/revolutionary party). With them, somehow... with them I took part, I had a
relation, I was impressed by what they were saying. I mean it was such a time, not like post-12
September times, you had to be on one side, one part (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 1: 32-37).

Her life story continues with a summary of the movement, which was spread all
over the country and supported by workers and students, which impressed her.
However, in her evaluation of joining the revolutionary movement she also
180
argues that she was too young and, therefore, her decision to withdraw from the
faculty and to work at a factory to support the working class was an idealist
decision. That is, Atiye constructs her life story through comments and
evaluations of the political upheavals as well as her personal experiences,
whereas in Merve's reconstruction personal accounts appear to be the dominant
elements, and little interest is shown towards social and political activities.

12 September and the loss of the loved one

The two life stories have a common structure in their narration of the 12
September: they suppress and downplay the interviewees' own sorrows or
resistance and the narrative is dominated by the sorrows of the loved one, or the
loss of the loved one. As we can see from the biographies of the interviewees and
the life histories (as lived) they experienced, the period of 12 September was
constituted by arrests, torture and oppression. The events that others (family
members, children, and friends) went through are, of course, part of the
interviewees' life histories. The question is not why they narrate the arrest and
torture of their husbands, but rather why the 12 September accounts of the life
stories (as told) underestimate self-experiences. At which point does the story of
the other forge ahead and why? The phases of the 12 September and the period
of imprisonment show differences both in length and in structure. Merve's
narrative of the 12 September period lasts 182 lines, whereas Atiye summarizes
her arrest and 12 September in 50 lines. Merve's story is narrative, whereas Atiye
tells her story with an argumentative and evaluative style. The reasons for these
different structures and the different length of the stories can first be explained.
Merve's arrest lasted 47 days, whereas Atiye was held for 15 days. Second,
Merve's narrative is again not based on her self-experiences but also includes
Mehmet's experiences in detail even the stories of her self-experiences seem to
be tools for narrating the more important story, which is Mehmet's story. Atiye,
on the other hand, prefers to narrate her husband's experiences of torture in the
questioning centre in a separate sequence following 12 September. Starting with
Merve, I will now provide a closer look at the accounts of 12 September and how
this period is told by the two interviewees.
After five days, they took me in again. I mean to the questioning. Screams are everywhere. Full
of human screams, and there is also echo in that prison. Then, suddenly I thought I heard my
husband's voice. But that was horrible, I mean you cannot recognize the voice, it is like a
scream when you slaughter someone by cutting their throat (boazlarsn da bir barma olur
ya yle). That time we were always preparing ourselves, torture, how to react against torture. I
had that book beside my bed when they took me, I was reading that book (laughs).

Then I thought they are definitely making him hear me, my eyes were tired. I didn't want him
to... They torture me with electricity, I scream out but I say my arm. I mean even there the
feeling of being a woman, I didn't want him to think other things, I mean it is not a rape
(Merve, f., 52, 4: 20-28).
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 Anyway, they brought me back from the thing (torturing). But it was already 45 days, 47 days.
Later we heard that they were going to bring Mehmet (and friends) upstairs. I asked the
soldiers my husband came upstairs, can I see him one or two minutes? They wait outside the
door, like this. We stay in two rooms. We sleep here, and eat there, and sit there. It is towards
the end. They take us to torture from there, I mean, that kind of situation. Then, it seems like
those soldiers were still good men. Haa, I got his news before Mehmet (and friends) came
there. A person from Ar, later we heard, he was [...] uhh, people sat on him made him walk
on salt, on the thing, but he was a huge man, think of it, I mean Mehmet is very thin very slim
(Merve, f., 52, Germany, 4: 34-41).

Hah, when I entered (the room) Mehmet was in a terrible situation. Under his feet, without any
exaggeration, some like to exaggerate, without any exaggeration white bones were visible. I
mean because of the shock on the feet, ehh electricity. They also used electric on me, it skins
over, I mean if it burns it has such a scab, this kind of scab happens. His was so much. When
you are a child, if you fall down, your knees form a scab. His chest and so on, his feet formed
really big scabs because of electrical burn. They used such a big amount of electricity. [...]
Later I hugged him, Did you withstand, did you say anything, I didn't he also said I also
didn't. We both didn't say anything (to the perpetrators) (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 4: 48-55).

They were paying so much attention to me at that time. She is from the union, head of the
women ('s group), in charge of the district, lots of things. And also wife of Mehmet Sahin. They
think that Mehmet Sahin is in charge of (location-city). I mean I experienced the worst tortures
from women's thing (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 5: 25-28).

I was released; my sister also lives in the neighbourhood. While walking I was thinking how do
the ones, imprisoned for ten years, walk. In those 45 days you cannot walk proper (in a straight
line). You walk like this way that way (laughs). It is like you have forgotten how to walk. Then I
went (home), they were so happy, my sisters. 00:38:24-0

But this time Mehmet was in (prison), the situation is too bad. And they take Mehmet again to
the torture place in (location/city). I mean not to a normal prison or to the military prison. He
was tortured there again. He was in total 75 days under torture (Merve, f., 52, Germany, 6: 5-
12).

Merve's construction of the period of arrest is constituted by rapid changes from

her ideas, feelings, and experiences to Mehmet's experiences. It is hard, and
sometimes impossible to follow which parts of the story about Mehmet were
witnessed / experienced by Merve herself, and how many of them are re-narrated
through what was told her by Mehmet or his comrades. On the other hand,
although she states that she experienced the worst tortures in the women's
dormitory, she does not narrate how she was tortured, or what kind of problems
she faced afterwards. However, while narrating the torture Mehmet experienced,
she underestimates her own experiences (it skins over, but his was too much)
while comparing it with the tortures Mehmet had to suffer. As these accounts
show, her narratives of her self-experiences are repeatedly interrupted with the
story of Mehmet (Then I went (home), they were so happy, my sisters. 00:38:24-0
But this time Mehmet is in (prison), the situation is too bad.)
Atiye, after summarizing the social movement and the activities she was
involved in at the end of the 70s, also tells how the arrests of the revolutionaries
182
were understood as part of daily life, which is followed by a critique:
Of course, that was a part of daily life, to be arrested by police, to be released again, beatings,
and tortures. I mean, until the time of the 12 September, maybe I was arrested 8-10 times. In
fact, it should also be underlined; on 12 September we were probably not aware of what was
going on. On 12 September, in 1980 I was 22 years old. On 12 September (we thought) as
usual, they are again going to beat us, hit us and then leave. The movement at the time... A 20-
year-old youth, what else can he/she think about? They release, arrest again, torture, after 3
days release again, next week police sees you again somewhere, arrests again. Those days
were really... but I evaluated that much later of course. Before 12 September I was married. I
mean... 23rd July of the summer of 1980. rfan Kale, I mean maybe... we were married, we had
a wedding ceremony (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 2: 13-22).

How Atiye starts narrating 12 September, with discussion of the daily arrests and
(circullar) violent routine, and evaluation of the leftist movement is interesting.
She wants to criticize the movement for not being able to analyse the expected
consequences of a possible coup d'tat and not taking any measures beforehand
(The movement at the time... A 20-year-old youth, what else can he/she think
about?), but only slightly and without directly blaming anyone. Instead, she says
she was too young to foresee the crimes that were going to committed by the
junta. Following this evaluation, she switches to her marriage, which at first
seems to have no links with what she has been telling. However, in the following
lines she continues with the stories of how she and her husband were arrested,
which also include the same critique towards the leftist movement for not being
able to analyze the importance of the coup:
Before the 12 September... It was I think 8 th of September, 5th of September, it was 8th of
September. I was again coming from a factory. A textile factory which is a member of
(organization-union).We had a meeting with workers, about the situation at work, problems.
When I was on my way, I had in my pocket, there were body searches at that time. It was the
arrangement for the 12 September. There were many, we were not aware of it, but suddenly
there were many body searches on the streets, blocking the cars, they make every passenger get
off, searching the bags, soldiers occupied some of the crossroads. In my bag there were leaflets
What is strike, what is (organization/union) (laughs), so I was arrested [] No need to go
into details now. I was arrested before the 12 September (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 2:; 30-38).

Hmm... My husband was not arrested but he was arrested also on 12 September, rfan (Atiye, f.,
51, Germany, 3: 1).

We did not see each other. I was arrested for 15 days at the (institution-police station). After 15
days I was released. I heard that he was arrested. But we did not tell about each other (to the
police). But I was out, and I hoped my husband was going to be released. I mean they are
going to beat, question, and release. We couldn't think that the level of the trouble would be so
high at that time. I mean it is going to be over soon, like all arrests, all tortures. That was
really, politically and ideologically criticized later, but it was a serious mistake. Nobody was
aware of the fact that it was going to destroy at that level, was going to do such permanent
things, to do, because of the 12 September, by no one. That is the reason that the destruction
was so huge [] (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 3: 1-21).

183
 Later, you may know the event, my husband was on 14th of October under torture. I was at that
time with his parents. It was during the feast, feast of sacrifice. We got the news from
(location/city), rfan is at the police station and when we arrive [] I mean, he was dead, they
killed him under torture. They, the policemen left him in front of the hospital. I mean the police.
The doctor was our witness, the one who received (teslim alan) rfan at that time at the
hospital. I mean not the one who received him, to treat him. They left him there, the police.
rfan says I won (them) he says. So to say, he says I didn't denounce anything. I didn't
denounce my friends, my comrades. Later we talked with the doctor. Doctor says, for the
doctor heroism is something like an Ottoman Sultan who returns from conquering. Like
Ottoman Sultans, he said he came and said I won. I asked him who are you? and he
said I am rfan Kale. Then says this and that happened, the (institution/police station) did
this to me. But later, he can't survive of course. That was 1980, 14 th of October. 1980, 14th of
October (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 3: 22-32).

In her main narrative, both her and her husband rfan's arrest and torture and his
murder by the police are told in a relatively short sequence. Only during the
second stage of the interview, in which I asked questions about the time of her
arrest for 15 days in the period of 12 September, she says:
Electricity, foot-beating (falaka), sexual harassment (laughs). Anyway, it wasn't that. I mean,
I/them... but that time our (understanding) was different. Of course, I mean, whatever happens
you have to resist. There is no other way, you don't think of another option. I mean your friend,
your comrades...( Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 9: 20-22).

In our second interview, Atiye tells of those 15 days of arrest and torture as
follows:
I mean, first they tied my hands and legs and made me lie on the floor, well they strip off the
trousers and so on, you shout and so, he touches and things like that. He touches your breasts,
uses electricity. How many times I had faint attacks like that because of the electricity, but that
is not important I mean. From the small fingers, toes, ears. Of course at the end you have a
faint attack (laughs) but nothing happens (Atiye, 2nd Interview, f., 51, Germany, 8: 5-8).

Each time when she describes how she was tortured, she comments that these
tortures did not affect her so much. The violence she had to live through, her
general personal pains, sufferings and her resistance, appear to be less important
in comparison with political argumentation in general. The other point is the
switch from I to you when narrating her experiences. Haug (2000) argues
that women, when narrating stories of themselves in the first person, tend to
make short and laconic statements, which she explains as the result of women
not finding their experiences important enough (Haug 2000: 176). Using Haugs
perspective, I look at how Atiye narrates the story of her husband's arrest and
murder with accounts of heroism and victimization:
They told me that he always shouted out the slogans death to fascism, freedom to the people!
I mean Murderers will face the day of reckoning!. He was always during the torture, while
the others were being tortured, was always shouting, never stopped I mean, never kept silent,
they told me. I mean they of course tortured him very badly, with sandbags, his bones and so
were broken, his ribs and so were broken... His hands and his feet.. all his bones were broken,
184
 in Irfan's body. Even the fingers and the toes (Atiye, f., 51, Germany, 9: 30-35).

To sum up, it is worth mentioning again that violent events leave deeper marks in
memory and the more violent the event is, the stronger image it leaves in the
memory. However the remembrance of violent events, as discussed in chapter
two, is constructed by society. Since Mehmet ahin was a well-known and
respected person because of his attitude during questioning, he was named 'the
rose of the resistance' for not giving the names of his friends, and resisting
sharing information about the revolutionary party despite the heavy torture he
suffered. Merve's own memories of self-experienced violence is downplayed.
She has not forgotten her own painful experiences, but while remembering, she
does not think that they would be important in comparison with her husband's,
and prefers to construct the memory of the past through the most violent one.
Atiye's memory of the past is not constructed through her husband's, except the
period of 12 September, but rather it is constructed through evaluations and
political arguments of the time. The main difference is the lack of
commemorative remembering for Atiye's husband, Irfan Kale, whereas literature
events are organized monthly in memory of Mehmet ahin, as well as annual
commemorations. These commemorations, where Merve is always invited to
make a speech, reproduce her role as Mehmet's wife. Therefore, Atiye's
memory of her husband as victim or hero remains personal, since rfan Kale is
not a public myth. The absence of the narrating subject is not common to the
whole narrative in the case of Atiye, but is limited to 12 September.
The commemorations of 12 September are one of the main characteristics
of these memories. The more victimized revolutionaries deserve to be
remembered more; the murdered revolutionaries are remembered and respected
as the martyrs of the revolution; the ones who are murdered after suffering
terrible tortures are sacred. This hierarchy of painful experiences is reproduced
by individuals in constructing the memory of the past. The narrator who
managed to stay alive downplays her/his own experiences of violence, regardless
of differences in the gender of the narrating subject. On the other hand, narrating
self-experienced violence directly involves difficulties, and hence always
emerges under cover, either by reflecting through another's story, or by switching
from first person I to the We in the commemorations. It is easier to look at
the pain of the other than face the wounds of the self.

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7. Conclusion: longing for the future in search of lost times82

Devrim vaktiyle bir ihtimaldi ve ok gzeldi.83

Murat Uyurkulak

We live in an age of fluctuating images, words and goods. Speed and the new
are the mottos of this new era. Both visually and verbally, we are faced with this
acceleration in our daily life practices. The desire for speed and for the new,
which trigger off rapid changes, however, ironically in turn produce the demand
for memory: the more we forget the more we want to remember. Long before our
digital age where memory is measured in megabytes and gigabytes and stored on
digital devices, Pierre Nora (1989) warned us about the loss of memory in the
modern age. He argues that we no longer live in memory (milieux de memoire),
but we live between memory and history (lieux de memoire): no longer quite
life, not yet death, like shells on the shore when the sea of living memory has
receded (Nora 1989: 12).
The demand for times past results in archival memory (Nora 1989), an
inflation of monuments and musealization (Huyssen 1995), as well as in a
growing interest in autobiographies in the field of literature (Sarlo 2012) and
nostalgia. Academic interest in memory studies cannot be detached from the
recent demand for remembering in the age of oblivion. Nevertheless, both the
level of oblivion and the demand for memory depend on the past and present
conditions which are unique for each society. In Germany, the interest in
memory studies arose in the 1980s as a result of public debates concerning the
problems of confronting and commemorating the past of the Second World War
and the Holocaust (Olick 1999b). In Argentina, public debates on confrontation
with the past were generated as a result of the politics of the first civilian
government established after the end of the junta regime in 1983 (Perelli 1994).
For Turkey, public interest in the past, and the difficulties in confronting and
commemorating a difficult past are somewhat new issues, not only for human
rights organizations, trade unions and political groups, but also for academic
researchers. The majority of the works in this field consist of oral history books
focusing on the stories of victims and survivors, and autobiographies by
witnesses or survivors regarding the past of the Armenian Massacre, the Dersim
Massacre, the 6-7 September Events and the 12 September Coup dEtat. What is
unique to the studies regarding 12 September is the weight of political economic

82 The title of this chapter is inspired by Marcel Prousts book In Search of Lost Times.
83 Revolution was once a beautiful possibility. Murat Uyurkulak (2002) Tol: Bir ntikam Roman.
Metis; Istanbul.
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analyses, in addition to the oral history studies, novels, memoirs and
autobiographies. The main interest of these studies lies in an analysis of the
general economic and political structures which resulted from the coup dtat
and the changes that appeared in society afterwards. Hence, scholars dealing
with superstructures analyse the characteristics, interests and benefits of the
resulting institutions at the national and global level, focusing on macro analyses
of the accumulation and distribution of capital, and neoliberal politics. In
contrast, oral history works and literary works such as memoirs and
autobiographies aim to uncover the past stories of witnesses, survivors and
victims and hence to challenge a hegemonic understanding of past events and the
official history which turn a blind eye to events such as massacres and violent
acts towards minorities.
Needless to say, the analyses of the superstructures of the political and
economic conditions of the past and the present and the life stories of the
actors, that is, macro-level analyses and the stories of individuals at the micro
level, remain detached from each other. This research has aimed, first of all, to
fill this gap by analysing the biographies of revolutionaries as products of past
political, economic and social structures and also as products of present
conditions. The empirical analysis of the biographies in this study has shown that
remembrance of the past cannot be understood by abstracting life stories from
the present conditions in which they are being structured. Recent political
upheavals and the revolutionaries interest in these upheavals play an important
role in the process of reconstructing life stories. The effects of recent changes
upon life stories are strengthened by the activities, discourse and positions of the
political organizations the revolutionaries are involved in. The images, thoughts
and words invoked in the commemorative activities appear as active elements in
the reconstructing of life stories.
A second aspect to this study, and something which is specific to it, is its
methodological approach, which has aimed to understand the characteristic
features of collective memory in biographical narratives. The approach of the
study has been to apply the presentist approach of Halbwachs theory of
collective memory to the method of biographical case reconstruction. Through
comparison of lived lives and told lives in the light of historical events and
present conditions, the process of selectivity has been analyzed. Through
narratives of selected events from the past, the effects of the present on the
memory of the past and the dynamics of the process of selection (which of the
events are emphasised, which remain unspoken, which are downplayed) have
been analyzed. In addition, analysis of the biographies in the study has been
interwoven with the findings from observations of commemorative events in
order to understand the collective in the individual.
Regarding the theoretical background of the thesis, my analysis of the
memory of the past of 12 September are rooted in overlapping features of

188
Halbwachs understanding of social frameworks and Althussers theory of State
Apparatuses. The social frameworks of memory are, hence, considered along
two separate, but nevertheless overlapping, dimensions: those that function as
repressive apparatuses and those which function as ideological apparatuses. I
have argued that the State, which was restructured by the junta regime, operated
with its military forces, courts, prisons, torture centres and police stations as a
repressive apparatus on the one hand; and on the other hand by establishing new
institutions, introducing laws on censorship and intervening in education it aimed
to transform cultural and daily life. In other words, the State used its ideological
apparatuses to impose its ideology and legitimise its violent acts towards
opposing groups.
The study has shown that the main difference in remembering 12 September
between the revolutionaries who reside in Turkey and exiles living in Germany
derives from the continuing repression by the juntas institutions and the
restrictions which are still experienced by the revolutionaries in Turkey.
Therefore, while the past of 12 September is an important part of politics in
Turkey in general, it is a particularly strong interest of left-wing politics.
Practices remembering 12 September therefore include recent political
upheavals, as they are a continuation of the 12 September regime. The analysis
of the commemorative practices held in Germany has shown the strong interest
of the exiles organizations in home politics. Although exiles do not directly
experience the oppression of the Turkish State, they adopt the recent political
perspectives of their brother organizations in Turkey in reconstructing the
memory of 12 September. Therefore, apart from the absence of state oppression
and a special emphasis on the condition of being political exiles, the
commemorations practised in Germany share similar characteristics to those held
in Turkey.
The past of 12 September, especially since the referendum held in 2010,
have become a favoured topic in public debates. The events of the junta period
and the figures from the revolutionary movement are to some extent highlighted
by the media in Turkey. However, the exiles in Germany lack these kinds of
public debates or recognition. Memory of 12 September is limited to the groups
of exiles, which also results in less multiplicity and diversity in reconstructing
the past among the members of the groups. On the other hand, the significance of
the past of 12 September for the exiles is its interpretation as the event which
forms their collective identity as exiles. 12 September is the very reason for their
suffering homelessness, and thus the reason for their break from everything
related to their past at home: the loss of family members and friends, separation
from places, people and language a break which caused the disappearance of
everything they used to belong to and difficulties in adapting to new social
frameworks, new places, a new language, new institutions and a new culture. For
the exiles, the past of 12 September is a tool for holding onto the things that they

189
lost by becoming exiles. At the same time, the exiles arrival in Germany is a
turning point which distances them from the possible injustices still in existence
in the homeland, and hence a turning point which constructs the memory of 12
September as a distant history. For them, it is a dynamic element of identity
construction but it is also almost pushed into the field of history: it becomes
stable and frozen; it was once upon a time rather than in the present; it was
there not here. Unlike the revolutionaries who reside in Turkey, for the
exiles the memory of 12 September finishes with their arrival in Germany.
The prominent characteristics of the practices commemorating 12
September are heroization, victimization, sacralization, exclusion and inclusion.
Although the various groups commemorate different events or figures,
depending on their political closeness to them, the structural characteristics of the
commemorative practices, the formal structures of their performance and the
production of symbols and myths are common to all the groups. The image of
the revolutionary is constructed through a discourse of both heroization and
victimization. Executed revolutionaries function as symbols of the brutal
violence inflicted on the revolutionaries, but also as symbols of innocence and
courage. Memory of them is crucial both to remembering the crimes committed
by the supporters of the junta and also to proving to the perpetrators that
despite being executed they continue to exist in the memories of others.
In their commemorative activities the revolutionary groups repeat
traditional rituals. Places (graves, prisons), objects (flags, flowers, letters and
photos of the executed revolutionaries), rule-governed activities (moments of
silence, reciting poems, revolutionary marches), symbols (party flags, symbols of
communism) are used to compose a discourse of sacralization. The formal
structures of the commemorations are rooted in religious rituals, although the
content and the aim of the commemorations derive from the need for continuity
and solidarity among the group members.
The analysis of the biographies and commemorative events has shown that
the 78 Revolutionary Movement is remembered together with the leaders, myths
and symbols of the previous revolutionary movement, the 68 Movement. The
execution of the leaders of the 68 Movement constructed the ground for the
interest of the 78 generation in revolution. In addition, revolutionary struggle is
interpreted as an inheritance left to the members of the 78 movement by the
revolutionaries of the previous generation. Memories of the 78 Revolutionary
Movement and the 12 September Coup are not abstracted from their political,
economic and historical context, and neither are they from the situation at the
international level. The revolutionaries do not limit their understanding of the
coup dtat to their own experiences but they elaborate on the neo-liberal politics
of the post-junta regime, the economic interests of international organizations
such as the IMF and World Bank, and on cultural transformation at the
commemorations and in their biographical narratives.

190
 Similarly, memory of the perpetrators is not limited to the officers who
carried out acts of physical and psychological violence on the revolutionaries. At
commemorative events, systematic violence, Turkification and destruction of
self-esteem to weaken the revolutionary movement are discussed as violations of
human rights and crimes against humanity. The revolutionaries biographies
support this argument repeated at the commemorations. The revolutionaries
narratives of tortures are quite similar in terms of methods and strategy.
Although the revolutionaries interviewed were arrested and tortured in various
cities and towns, the torture equipment used and the language of the officers who
tortured them show that torture was practised systematically and the officers
were trained in human physiology and psychology. Therefore, the crimes of the
perpetrators cannot be reduced to a physical and psychological punishment of
criminals by a few deviant officers but rather must be considered a crime of the
state, which by injuring the imprisoned revolutionaries aimed to repress society
in general in order to succeed in ideological transformation.
Through the narratives of the revolutionaries, I have argued that the
transformation in politics and in economic, cultural and daily life caused
isolation for the revolutionaries. In addition to the state laws which prevented ex-
prisoners from working for state institutions, the revolutionaries experienced
difficulties in adapting to the rules of the job market, which became more
competitive after the coup. Their isolation was not limited to being excluded
from economic activities, but was also felt through the alienation and planned
obsolescence they experienced, which were results of their difficulties in
adapting to the individualistic structure of society, rapid changes and the new
values of the consumer culture. Moreover, as a result of prohibitions on political
activities, the revolutionaries were forced to not become involved in political
activities and to hide their past involvement, which resulted in survival-
isolation (Gotesky, 1965).
Finally, through the analysis of the biographies two types of remembering
12 September have been conceptualized, and they are also common to the
commemorative events: reflected memory and wounded memory. In
commemorative events, the memories of the revolutionaries are embedded in
symbols and myths. For instance, a revolutionary who is executed at a young age
symbolizes the innocence of the revolutionaries. Hence, commemoration of that
revolutionary is not limited to the single person, but his image becomes a tool
for reflecting the pain of others. Through the memory of an executed
revolutionary, the surviving revolutionaries re-visit their own memories. The
biographies similarly function as reflective memories in the cases of lost loved
ones. Whether the lost loved one is an important figure for the community or not,
the experience of death dominates all the other experiences of those who
continue to live. The biographers on the one hand downplay their own memories

191
of suffering from violence, and on the other hand their memory is reflected in the
memory of the lost loved one.
Be it remembered, repressed, ignored or forgotten, violence leaves traces in
memory. In the case of the memory of 12 September, there is a strong will
among the revolutionaries for recognition of the violence they had to experience.
After a long period of silence in society about the brutal violence exercised by
the state apparatuses, the revolutionaries now face the difficulties of constructing
a proper memory politics in order to elaborate on the violent acts of the state.
The essential problem seems to be memory which is wounded. In the production
of memory places, in the memory politics of the revolutionary organizations and
at commemorative events, violence dominates the discourse. The domination of
violence in the memory of 12 September cannot be explained only as a strategy
to remind the perpetrators of the crimes they committed, but also needs to be
understood together with the will for recognition on the part of the masses who
remained in silence and ignorance. Until the brutal violence the revolutionaries
experienced is recognized by society, wounded memory will continue to be the
dominant characteristic of remembering the past. The pain which was
experienced by some and ignorance of it by others continue to divide people like
an iron curtain: we and they. Perelli (1994) uses the term Memoria de Sangre
to discuss the Argentinian case. It literally means blood memory, and it arises
from an experience of fear, hardship, pain, and loss so extreme as to turn it into
the salient fact of the past (Perelli 1994: 40). Perelli argues that spilled blood
is a mark which distinguishes people through the experience of violence in which
blood is a boundary (1994: 40). Unlike the Argentinian case, Turkeys
attempts at confrontation started many years after the blood was spilled. The
ones who were not seen as they bled badly for years still have wounds which are
open to being healed or to bleeding again.
In the narratives of 12 September, the revolutionaries emphasise two things:
the loss of past memories and the loss of dreams for the future. Photographs from
their childhood or school days have been destroyed, their friends and family
members were lost, either when they were imprisoned or when they had to leave
their hometowns or countries in exile. Their personal, political and social
relations have been destroyed. The material surroundings of memory have been
destroyed or modified. The revolutionaries feel the absence of memory places
(not only the places where they were tortured and imprisoned, but also the places
which have symbolic importance for the resistance movement, such as Taksim
Square) and of other physical memory sites such as monuments and memorials.
The present is senseless without the past which generated it. On the threshold of
confronting the past, Turkey should not only focus on the victims in the past, but
also should aim to return respect for the past lives of the revolutionaries who are
alive in the present.

192
Annexes

Annex I: Tree of the Revolutionary Movement in Turkey

TKP 1920 VP 1954 TP

Hikmet Kvlcml 1961

FKF
1965

DEV-GEN
1969

THKO PDA SGB THKP-C

1971 1970 1970 1970

TKP
1971

TKP TKP/ML
1974 1972
Abbreviations:
Dev-Gen: Devrimci Genlik (Revolutionary Youth)
FKF: Fikir Kulpleri Federasyonu (Federation of Thought Clups)
PDA: Proleter Devrimci Aydnlk
SGB: Sosyalist Genlik Birlii (The Unity of Socialist Youth)
THKO: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Ordusu (People's Liberation Army of Turkey)
THKP-C: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Parti-Cephesi (People's Liberation Party-Front
of Turkey)
TKP: Trkiye htilalci i Kyl Partisi (Revolutionary Workers' and Peasants'
Party of Turkey)
TKP: Trkiye i Kyl Partisi (Workers' and Peasants' Party Turkey)
TP: Trkiye i Partisi (Workers' Party of Turkey)
TKP: Trkiye Komnist Partisi (Communist Party of Turkey)
TKP/ML: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist (Communist Party of
Turkey/Marxist Leninist)
VP: Vatan Partisi (Homeland Party)

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Annex II: The THKP/C Movement

THKP/C
1970

Militan Genlik Acilciler MLSPB DGDF

1974 1973 1975 1976

DEV-YOL KSD Kurtulu

1977 1976

THKP-C DEV-SOL
Y 1978

Abbreviations:

DEV-SOL: Devrimci Sol (Revolutionary Left)

DEV-YOL: Devrimci Yol (Revolutionary Path)
DGDF: Devrimci Genlik Dernekleri Federasyonu (Federation of Revolutionary
Youth Organizations)
KSD: Kurtulu Sosyalist Dergi (Journal of Socialist Lieration)
Militan Genlik: Militant Youth
MLSPB: Marksist Leninist Silahl Propaganda Birlii (Marxist Leninist Armed
Propaganda Unity)
THKP-C: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Parti-Cephesi (People's Liberation Pary-Front
of Turkey)
THKP-C Y: THKP-C nc Yolcular (Third Road)

194
Annex III: The THKO Movement

THKO
1971

THKO-GMK
1974

THKO-TDY THKO-MB
1976 Emein Birlii '75

Halkn
Kurtuluu
1976

TDKP-
1978

TDKP
1980
Abbreviations:

Halkn Kurtuluu: Liberation of the People

TDKP: Trkiye Devrimci Komnist Partisi (Revolutionary Communist Party
Turkey)
TDKP-: TDKP na rgt (Construction Organization)
THKO: Trkiye Halk Kurtulu Ordusu (People's Liberation Army of Turkey)
THKO-GMK: THKO-Geici Merkez Komitesi (Temporary Head Committee)
THKO-MB: THKO-Mcadele Birlii (Unity of Struggle)
THKO-TDY. THKO-Trkiye Devriminin Yolu (Revolutionary Path of Turkey)

195
Annex IV: The TKP/ML Movement

TKP/ML
1972

TKP/ML Hareketi TKP/ML

Halkn Birlii Partizan
1976 1978

TKP/ML-DHB
1978

TKP/ML-HB
1978

TKP/ML-Y
1980

Abbreviations:

TKP/ML: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist (Communist Party of

Turkey/Marxist Leninist)
TKP/ML Partizan: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist
Partisan(Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist Partisan)
TKP/ML Hareketi Halkn Birlii: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist
Hareketi Halkn Birlii (Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist
Movement The Unity of the People)
TKP/ML-DHB: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist Devrimci Halkn
Birlii (Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist The Unity of
Revolutionary People)
TKP/ML-HB: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist Halkn Birlii
(Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist The Unity of the People)
TKP/ML-Y: Trkiye Komnist Partisi/Marksist Leninist Yeniden na
rgt (Communist Party of Turkey/Marxist Leninist - Reconstruction
Organization)

196
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Films and Documentaries

Ankara Barosu nsan Haklar Merkezi. Su Gz: Olaanst Mahkemeler Belgeseli. Ankara: Ankara
Barosu Baro TV yayn, 2013.
Aksakal, Pertev (Director) (2007): Fatsa Gerei. Ankara: Penta.
Beyslen, Yusuf Kenan (Director)/ Bilican Glgn (Producer) (2011): Ulucanlar: Byk Yzleme.
Ankara TMMOB Mimarlar Odas.
Dostluk Yardmlama Vakf. 12 Eyll Adaleti 1: Nefti Yeil ve Mavi damlar. Ankara: zgr
Alm
Dostluk Yardmlama Vakf. 12 Eyll Adaleti 2: Cezaevleri. Ankara: zgr Alm.
Dostluk Yardmlama Vakf, Bir Yap Ustasnn Ansna: Ali Bapnar. Documentary Film.
Erenku, Tun (Director)/ Ta, Tevfik (ed.) (2010): Olunuz Erdal. Sosyal Aratrmalar Vakf.
Horuz, Memik (Director and producer) (2010): 17nin tesi Erdal Eren Davas. Documentary Film.

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